Racing Against Time (4 page)

She knew how frustrating this had to be for him. They were crawling when he wanted to be running. “Every piece of the puzzle is necessary in order to create the total picture.” She gave him something positive to work with. “In the meantime, we have beat cops going door to door with your daughter’s photograph. If she’s in the area, willingly or unwillingly,” Callie emphasized, “we will find her.”

She believed what she was saying, he thought. But he knew the odds. He couldn’t have been a judge in the criminal system if he didn’t. “And if she’s not in the area?”

“We will still find her.”

She looked around the immediate area. The foyer led into a spacious living room that seemed much larger for its restraint in furnishings. There were no antiques, no museum pieces gracing walls or tables. This was a house that belonged to a man who felt no need to prove anything to anyone. A man who was confident in his own skin. It would take a lot to rattle him. And he had been rattled. Badly. It was time to share her theories with him.

“You know, there is a chance that someone might have been stalking your housekeeper and that this was strictly about her. Did Ms. Culhane have any boyfriends, odd friends…?” Her voice trailed off, letting him fill in the blanks.

Brent took no time to think. He didn’t have to. “Not that I know of.”

The housekeeper wouldn’t have been the first one to have a secret life her employer didn’t know about. “What did she do on her days off?”

It was hard not to pace about the room. Brent could feel the pressure building up inside of him, searching for release.

“Stayed here most of the time. She really cared about Rachel.” He wasn’t giving the woman her due, he thought. In his concern about his daughter’s safety, Delia had become a footnote. “Delia was a great help when Rachel’s mother left. I don’t know what I would have done if she hadn’t been here.”

She noticed the way he structured the sentence, referring to the woman as Rachel’s mother rather than his wife or ex-wife. Jennifer Montgomery must have hurt him a great deal, Callie thought, for Brent to have iced over his heart this way.

“Were you and Ms. Culhane—close?”

“She didn’t like being called Ms.” His mouth curved slightly as he remembered the speech Delia had given him. “Thought that sounded too vague. She was unmarried by choice and she had no problem with the world knowing it.” He could see the detective was still waiting for an answer to her question. “If by ‘close’ you mean did we sometimes have lengthy talks about what we thought was best for Rachel, yes.” His eyes darkened slightly at what he knew was the implication. “If you mean anything else, no.”

Callie pressed on. “You didn’t take her out to dinner or—”

Brent cut her short. “Once each year for her birthday. With Rachel,” he added, his voice stony, cold. “And there is no ‘or,’ Detective. Delia Culhane was my housekeeper and Rachel’s nanny. And a very, very good woman.” He took offense for the woman who could no longer speak for herself. “She doesn’t deserve the kind of thoughts you’re having.”

“I’m not having any thoughts, Judge.” Callie used his title deliberately, to drive home the point that she was being professional, nothing more, nothing less. “I’m doing my job. The more information I have, the better I can do it.”

“Well, unless there’s some deep, dark secret I didn’t know about, my daughter’s kidnapping,” the term stung his tongue but he couldn’t continue to pretend that it was anything else, “doesn’t have anything to do with Delia beyond the obvious. That she died trying to protect my daughter.”

Callie knew that was what he wanted to think, but she didn’t have the luxury of allowing him to believe that without questioning the woman’s integrity further. “Miss Culhane wouldn’t have tried to take Rachel on her own, would she?”

He glared at her. “The woman is dead, Callie.”

This was the first time he’d used her name, and she paused for a long moment to gather her thoughts.

Callie took a breath. “Yes, but maybe she orchestrated the kidnapping in order to get money—or revenge—” She still couldn’t rule that out. Perhaps the woman felt she had received some slight or had some grievance against him. Even if it was imaginary, it still needed to be checked out. “And it backfired.” There was no honor among thieves, there were only thieves. “Her partner decided that he couldn’t share the money with her.”

Brent was adamant as he shook his head. “She’d been with me since Rachel was a year old. Look, Callie, it’s my job to read people. Delia Culhane didn’t have a mean or mercenary bone in her body. She was entirely selfless.”

Callie blew out a breath as she took in his information. Whether or not he was right still had to be determined, but for the moment she could pretend to believe him.

“All right, for the time being let’s pretend that she was pure as the driven snow. Still, I need to look through her things, just as a formality.” He wasn’t fooled, she thought. “Would you mind showing me her room?”

With conscious effort he strove to take the edge off his temper. He knew she was just doing her job. “No, I wouldn’t mind, but you’re going entirely in the wrong direction.” He looked at her. “Just as you will with your next tack.”

God, but he was tall, she thought. And decidedly masculine. Even more than he’d been that night they danced. He seemed to draw the very air out of the room. “My next tack?”

This time he allowed himself the slightest hint of a smile. Because the very thought was hopelessly ludicrous. “Where you rule me out as a suspect.”

He was going to make it easy for her. She was grateful for that. “Personally I don’t see you as a suspect.”

He wondered if she was patronizing him, then decided that she wasn’t. Still he wanted his question answered. “And you’re basing this on what? On our dancing together once?”

She hadn’t expected him to oppose her on this, much less bring up that incident. She was equally surprised that he even remembered dancing with her. But she remembered.

Funny how some things just stuck in your mind. She’d thought back to that evening, that dance, more than once. She couldn’t even say why, because she had never allowed her thoughts free rein when it came to that memory. He’d been married and she wasn’t the type to be with a married man in any way that wasn’t completely public.

“On your reputation,” she replied tersely. “And on the fact that you know my father. Dad’s a damn good judge of character.” She smiled at him. “And he always liked you.”

He went at it like the lawyer he’d once been. “Hearsay.”

“All right, then, on my gut instinct.”

Again Brent overruled her. “Not admissible in court.”

She looked at him. “You
want
me to question you like a suspect?”

He knew this had to be done and he wanted it over with as fast as possible. “I want you to rule me out as a suspect. Officially.”

“All right, then.” She took a deep breath and began asking him questions as they walked to the rear of the main floor and his late housekeeper’s room.

Chapter 4

“I
want my daddy. Where’s my daddy?”

Rachel wiggled against the restraints that had been added to her seatbelt. It was like the time Tommy Edwards threw ropes around her when he was playing Spider-Man. He told her they were webs, but they weren’t.

She could hardly move.

Outside the rear passenger window, scenery she’d never seen before whizzed by. She screwed her eyes shut tight for a second, determined not to cry. Crying was for babies, and she wasn’t a baby. She was a big girl. Delia always told her so.

The thought of her nanny, lying on the road where cars could hit her if she didn’t get up brought a tight, scratchy feeling to her throat, making it feel as if it was going to close up.

Rachel struggled against that, too. She had to be brave. Brave until her daddy came for her. She knew he would.

She wanted to have his arms around her now, making her feel safe. Why wasn’t he coming?

Where
was
he?

Sucking in air, she looked through the closed window and screamed “Dad-dee!” as loud as she could. But there was no one to hear her anymore. There were no people here. Just her and this man who had grabbed her, pulling her into his funny-looking car.

Delia had tried to grab her back, screaming for help, but he’d pushed her away. And then, when she’d tried to pull open the door, he’d made the car spin around. There was a big “Whap” and she heard Delia scream once. When she’d struggled to look out the window, Delia was lying down. She’d tried to call to her, but the man had pulled her back, holding her by the arm and squeezing. Hard. Squeezing until she promised not to cry out.

She’d promised, but he’d held on to her anyway, driving with just one hand. He held her like that until they were someplace she’d never seen before. Then he’d tied her up and put her in the back seat.

She wanted her daddy.

He looked at her in his rearview mirror. She was a spunky little kid.

Like his Alice was.

The thought of his daughter brought a fresh salvo of pain to the middle of his chest, stoking the red-hot fire in his belly. He hadn’t seen Alice in five years, didn’t even have any idea where she was now. That bitch had taken her away, the one who had promised to stick by him. For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. Just not during a jail sentence.

He pressed his lips together, forcing his mind forward. He’d lost Alice. For now. But he’d found another. This was going to be his Alice now. The goddamned judge owed him that.

Hell, Montgomery owed him a lot more, but this would do. For starters.

“You can call for your daddy all you want,” he told the little girl mildly. He took care to keep his voice low, nonthreatening. He didn’t want to scare her. He wanted her happy. And to love him. Just like Alice had. “But it won’t do you any good. He gave you to me. Said you were mine now.”

Something funny was happening in her tummy. It felt like ants running up and down inside. Red-hot ants. She’d felt like this when she’d watched that movie on TV, the one about witches. Until Delia had turned it off.

Rachel began breathing hard, frightened. Telling herself that her daddy wouldn’t do that to her. He’d never give her away. He loved her.

But he hadn’t kissed her goodbye today. He’d left without even talking to her.

She could feel tears stinging the corners of her eyes and stuck out her lower lip. “That’s not true.”

He liked the fire he saw. She was like him, never giving up. Good. “Yes, it is. He doesn’t have time for you anymore. He’s too busy being a judge.”

Busy. Daddy said he was in a hurry this morning. And he’d left fast. “My daddy always has time for me,” she declared, but she wasn’t so sure anymore.

He raised his eyes to look at the small face in the rearview mirror. She was petulant. He was gaining, he thought, satisfied with himself. “He didn’t even kiss you goodbye this morning, did he?”

It hadn’t been a difficult matter for him to break into the house yesterday, when the housekeeper had gone to pick the little girl up, and plant two cameras in the house, one in the living room, one in the kitchen. Child’s play for a man of his talents, really. And he had seen everything.

The judge should have let him make restitution. Should have let him slide. Winked and looked the other way as a deal was struck. Not stripped him of everything. Not stolen his life.

Rachel’s mouth fell open, and she stared at the back of the man’s head. “How did you know that?”

A smile slid over his lips. He turned to look at the little girl in the back seat. There was no traffic here, no other cars at all. They were in the country now. And entirely on his terms.

“Easy. I’m an angel.” Alice always liked angels. Had insisted on having them all over her room. On the wallpaper; scattered throughout her room. There’d been stuffed cherubs lining her shelves. She even wore one around her neck on a chain. He’d always called her his special angel. “Angels know everything.”

Rachel bunched up her face, glaring at him contemptuously. “You’re lying,” she accused righteously. “You’re not an angel. Angels don’t drive cars.”

He saw no reason to argue over this. She was too smart to be taken in. Probably didn’t believe in Santa Claus, either. Good, that made things easier.

“No, you’re right,” he agreed, turning around again. “I’m not an angel. But I am your new daddy. So you’d better get used to the idea.”

He flipped on the radio after fumbling with the controls for a moment.

Rachel screwed her eyes shut again. But this time as her lower lip quivered, a tear leaked out from beneath her lashes.

Brent paced back and forth in his den, his cordless phone against his ear. He was too upset, too restless to even attempt to sit down. “That’s right, Carmella,” he told the secretary on the other end of the connection, “a leave of absence. I’m taking a leave of absence.”

“But, Judge, your calendar’s full.” The rustle of pages could be heard, mingling with the young woman’s protest. He knew his schedule was never far from her reach.

Brent could hear how flabbergasted she was. Since they’d begun working together, he hadn’t taken more than a few days off, all one at a time, weaving his life around his career the best way possible.

But this was different. This took precedence over everything else.

“Yes, I know, but it can’t be helped.” He rubbed his forehead, trying to think. The headache was getting the better of him, knocking thoughts into the background. “Judge Holstein always said he would cover for me if I needed it.” It was time to call in favors. “And there’s Judge Reynolds and Judge Wojohowitz. They can be counted on to pick up some of the slack.”

Carmella sighed into his ear. He knew what she was thinking. Rescheduling the docket was going to be a severe challenge. She was good, but she wasn’t a miracle worker. But that was exactly what he was in the market for right now, a miracle worker.

He wondered just how closely Callie Cavanaugh fit that description.

There was more shuffling of pages as she asked, “How long is this leave for?”

He couldn’t tell her that it was open-ended. For one thing, her protest would be heated, for another, that meant admitting to himself that his daughter wasn’t going to be found by the end of the day.

Or two.

For once in his life Brent forced himself to be and sound optimistic.

“A week.” He paused, and then, because he was what he was and optimism came at a high premium, he added, “And after that we’ll see.”

There was another pause on the line. Carmella was having trouble comprehending, he thought. A few days was reasonable, a week was stretching it. Since this was unexpected, fathoming anything else was close to impossible.

“Judge—”

He didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to remain on the line with her anymore, even though Carmella Petrocelli was one of the most pleasant people he’d ever met and competent on top of that. The woman was dependability itself. He didn’t want her asking questions. Carmella was one of those people who cared, and he couldn’t handle that right now. It would make him break down.

“Do what you can, Carmella.”

Like the small terrier she had as a pet, Carmella hung on. “Judge, does this have to do with that police detective this morning? Is anything wrong?”

Natural instincts had him wanting to say no, that everything was fine, but the news would be out soon enough. He tried to convince himself that this was for Rachel’s good. The more people who actually knew, the better. It was just that it was so hard for him to admit that he was not in control of a situation and this time, he was so out of control it scared the hell out of him.

“My daughter’s—” What could he say? Missing? No, she was more than missing, she was stolen. No amount of denial was going to change that. He began again, his mouth dry, the words sticking to the roof like bits of white, dampened bread. “My daughter’s been kidnapped, Carmella.”

“Oh, my God, Judge.” The receiver echoed with her concern. “I…I don’t know what to say. Is there anything I can do?”

Yes, find my daughter. Show me the bastard who did this so I can kill him for ever touching my little girl.

Brent had no idea how he managed it, after the admission he’d just made, but he kept his voice calm. “I’ll let you know.”

“I’ll call the other judges right away,” the woman promised. “And please, let me know the moment there’s news. I’ll pray for her.”

“Thank you.”

Brent hung up. His secretary’s promise meant nothing to him. Prayer. What good was that? He couldn’t pray, couldn’t take solace in thinking a merciful God was listening. A merciful God wouldn’t have allowed Rachel to be taken in the first place. Wouldn’t have looked the other way while Delia’s life had been snuffed out like a candle.

The study echoed an all pervasive silence.

God, but he missed her. Unless it was late at night, even with the door to his study closed he could always hear Rachel. Her laughter would snake through the vents and find its way to him. He’d taken that for granted. It was one of those small joys of life that you didn’t realize was there until it no longer was.

He couldn’t stay here, he decided abruptly. Couldn’t just mark time, waiting for the phone to ring, for some kind of word to trickle down to him. If he stayed here like this any longer, he was going to go crazy.

Brent reached for the telephone again.

Callie blew out a breath as she sank down at her desk. She was tired, but at least something had been accomplished. The nanny had checked out. If Delia Culhane had a life beyond taking care of the Montgomery child and house, it was better hidden than that of a double agent’s.

The past few hours had been spent talking to the teachers at Rachel’s school, to Rachel’s pediatrician and to the woman who ran the ballet classes that Rachel attended twice a week without fail. Everyone had nothing but glowing words to say about the woman who, until this morning, had taken care of her. Delia Culhane had no vices, no bad habits, apparently no outside friends. Her only hobby seemed to be watching musicals. There was a full library of old MGM musicals, both videotapes and audio CDs in her room.

Callie had one of the people on the task force get her a record of all out-going and in-coming calls from the Montgomery residence for the past three months. Every one checked out. Nothing unusual. A couple dozen calls to or from the courthouse, a few calls from what she surmised were Rachel’s friends and one call to the pediatrician.

It didn’t appear that the judge had much of a social life, either, unless he conducted all his calls by cell phone. She was going to have to remember to get those records, as well.

Callie frowned, making a notation to herself in her well-worn notepad.

This pretty much did away with the nanny connection. Eliminating Delia meant that the woman’s death had been an accident. The nanny was probably killed trying to protect Rachel, possibly running after the vehicle when the driver had suddenly surprised Delia by turning the car around and aiming it at her.

Which meant they were dealing with someone who was cold-blooded and calculating. And he had the little girl. The task force was getting a list of all the known pedophiles in the area and bringing them in for questioning, but she didn’t want to entertain that possibility, not yet. Despite herself and all her police training and background, Callie shivered.

“It’s not cold in here.”

She looked up and saw that Brent was approaching her desk. She’d only left him a few hours ago, but he’d become more gaunt, more haunted in that space of time. Not that either looked bad on him.

His ex-wife was an idiot, giving him up. The thought came to her out of nowhere.

Maybe it hadn’t been the woman’s choice, Callie thought.

She closed her notepad, sticking it back into her right front pocket. “What are you doing here?”

He’d seen her shiver and his thoughts had immediately flown to Rachel. Was that a reaction to something Callie had learned about his daughter? But she would have said something, he was certain. He’d heard that Callie was like her father, she didn’t go in for drama or playing things out for attention. She was honest. That meant not keeping things back.

He held his hands in a gesture of servitude. “I’m here to help.”

They’d already gone through this. She knew how he felt, but she couldn’t have him just hanging around, getting in the way. “You can do that by staying home by the telephone in case there’s a ransom call.”

He didn’t want her treating him as if he was some kind of novice, as if he didn’t know how this went. They were both familiar with procedure. “It’s been almost seven hours since Delia was killed and Rachel went missing. Since Rachel was abducted,” he corrected. “There’s been no call. The kidnapper usually calls to start things moving once the discovery is made.”

He was right, but there were always exceptions. “Maybe this one doesn’t have a handbook.” She rose from her desk, ready to gently prod the man toward the door. “The only pattern you can count on is that there is no pattern.”