Second Chance (19 page)

“Baby, you threaten me again and that little screwing I gave you the other day will be a pleasant memory compared to what I’ll do to you. You got that?”

Dammit. She had no control over the bastard anymore. But there was still something he wanted.

“You still need me to help you get to her.”

“I don’t need you that bad. I’d advise you to keep a civil tongue in your mouth until our business transaction is complete. Then we’ll never have to see each other again and you can swear at me all you want. Till then, I suggest a bit of respect.” When she didn’t answer immediately, he said, “I didn’t hear you.”

“Fine,” she snapped.

“Good. Now, when you gonna be setting up this little rendezvous?”

An image came to her mind; she made a quick decision. “Do another job for me and I’ll arrange it.”

“How much?”

“Five thousand.”

“Ten and deliver the woman to me soon. Understand?”

She didn’t blink an eye. “Fine. Here’s what I want you to do.”

Wesley hung up the phone, his gut twisting with mixed feelings. Another ten thousand was a good thing. He still had a nice chunk left from the other job. With the extra, he’d be in high cotton.

Despite what he’d said, the fact that one of the kids had been found had him kind of rattled. Not that they could trace him. That transaction had taken place through email. He’d been told where to leave the kid and where to find the money. Nobody had seen nothing.

The other kid would never be found. Hell, he didn’t even know where she was, and he was the one who’d sold her. He hadn’t asked questions, mostly because he didn’t care what happened. Once he’d turned her over to that couple in California and had collected his cash, he’d been gone.

Wes gazed around his sparse bedroom. It wasn’t much. Just a tiny, rat-infested hole-in-the-wall apartment, but
it’d been his home for a year. This was the longest he’d ever stayed anywhere. Whenever he went out of town on a job, he always kind of looked forward to coming back here.

Uncle John—not his real uncle, but a man who’d raised him—always told him not to get too comfortable, because that’s when the shit starts to pour in. He’d been here too long. It was time to skedaddle. Besides, once he got Keeley, he couldn’t stay here. FBI and those LCR people would be on him like white on rice.

He wanted to keep her for a few months, if not longer. He already had a nice little cabin ready and waiting in the North Carolina mountains. He’d break her in at a little hideaway he sometimes went to just outside of Fairview. Then, once he had satisfied a few of his most urgent cravings, they’d head to the cabin in the mountains. Nobody would ever find them there. Hell, he might just keep her a real long time.

But first, he had another job to plan.

   Cole’s feet pounded against the soft, moist earth. Sunlight filtering through the trees created dappled shadows on the ground. The only sounds were his steps and a soaring hawk looking for a late-afternoon meal. He picked up his pace, wanting to get in at least a couple more miles before he headed back to the house.

This trail was perfect for running, and Stephen Fairchild had apparently created it just for his wife. An oddly incongruent gift with what he had learned about Keeley’s husband. Why would a man who by all accounts hadn’t loved his wife enough to stay faithful to her, do something like this?

Cole had mentioned to Keeley how much he enjoyed running on the trail. She admitted that she hadn’t used it since her children had been taken, but he’d seen the
glint in her eyes. She missed running. He could identify with that. Running had been his mainstay when he’d been in high school and college. After his family was killed, it had saved his sanity. Keeley needed that outlet, too.

Days of scanning the town’s archived newspapers for news of Keeley’s running awards had brought more questions than answers. Myron Gurganus had been correct. There had been only one small article when she won the state championship. He had some theories of why the scant coverage. But if she’d won so many awards, where were her trophies? She had to have several. If something meant that much to her, why hide them away? And why had she stopped running? When something was in your blood like that, giving it up was giving up a part of yourself.

The more he knew Keeley, the more he wanted to know her. It was a useless, pointless need that could lead him nowhere; nevertheless, the need was there.

Unless there was some physical reason she couldn’t run, he wanted to get her back on the track. Running would relieve some of the stress she was under and would exhaust her physically to help her sleep.

The child psychologist the FBI had sent today had relieved their minds. Hannah had indeed been traumatized by her kidnapping and separation from her mother, but from the gentle, subtle questioning by the psychologist, they now believed she’d suffered no physical abuse. The doctors felt that with a careful watch over the next few weeks to catch any underlying problem they hadn’t noticed, Hannah was capable of a full recovery, and could possibly forget most of what happened to her.

The questions the psychologist asked Hannah about her sister had been delicately and carefully worded. No
one wanted to cause the child any further harm, and pressuring her could well keep her from being able to remember anything. She’d offered very little, other than she remembered being hungry, cold, and sleepy.

When Hailey’s name had been mentioned, Hannah had started crying, prompting everyone to step back from questioning her. Keeley had been advised not to mention Hailey’s name for a few days. Cole knew that had to be killing her.

A vibration in his pocket had him reaching for his phone. “Mathison.”

“Help.”

Keeley
.

Cole broke into a sprint. His lungs working at maximum capacity, he raced toward the house and burst through the back door. He heard Keeley shouting at someone near the front of the house. Barreling through the kitchen, he ran down the long hallway to the foyer. He skidded to a stop right behind Keeley, who stood toe-to-toe with Chatam County sheriff Hiram Mobley.

“Get the hell out of my house, you bastard. You are not getting my baby.”

“Now, Keeley, I got a court order that says I can.”

Hands on her hips, Keeley leaned forward. Since she was several inches taller than Hiram, she towered over him. “I don’t care if you have the entire judicial system standing outside my house, you will not be taking my child anywhere.”

“What’s going on?” Cole demanded behind her.

Keeley turned, relieved to hear his voice. Jordan and Eden had gone out for a while and had made her promise not to open the door to anyone. When the sheriff rang at the gate, demanding to see her, she opened the gate. When he appeared on her doorstep, demanding to be let in, she’d panicked and called Cole. But
while she waited for Cole, she’d been stupid enough to let the sheriff inside the house.

“The sheriff says he has a court order to remove Hannah from my care because I’m an unfit mother.”

Cole grabbed the legal-looking document from Sheriff Mobley’s bony hand. “On what grounds?”

“She’s under suspicion for arranging the kidnapping.”

Keeley stared in amazement at the stupidity of that statement. “Of my own children?”

“No. Your husband.”

Dammit, not again
. “The FBI cleared me, Hiram, and you know it.”

“Yeah, well, the police force of Chatam County didn’t. We still think you done it.”

Cole looked down at the paper, a frown deepening the lines on his face. “Who signed this order?”

After an audible swallow, Mobley said, “Judge Albright.”

Keeley snorted. “He’s been in the back pocket of the Fairchilds for years. Just like you, Mobley.”

“Now, see here, Keeley, I’m just doing my job.”

“Your job is to protect people, not kowtow to them because they pay you money on the side.”

Mean beady eyes narrowed. “You accusing me of taking bribes?”

“That’s exactly—”

“Enough,” Cole growled. He shoved the paper back at the sheriff. “This isn’t signed by Judge Albright or anyone else. Get out.”

The sheriff swallowed hard again, his bloodshot eyes skittering from Keeley to Cole. “Well, the judge was busy this morning. I told ’im what I was going to do and he said he’d take care of it when he could.”

“Until he does, you have no authority to take the child. Now. Get. Out.”

The quiet menace in Cole’s voice finally penetrated
Hiram Mobley’s thick brain. He began to back away. “I was just doing my job.”

Keeley opened the door and barely let Hiram step outside before she slammed it shut. She looked up at Cole. “Can they take her away from me?”

Cole pulled his cellphone from his pocket. “No. I suspect this is just a little payment for me throwing Elizabeth out of the house this morning.” He pressed the phone to his ear and turned away from her.

Everything inside Keeley felt as if it would just melt; she wanted to literally sink into the floor and cry. After all Hannah had been through, Elizabeth wanted to take her away. Not because she cared. Not because she truly suspected Keeley of anything. No, the only reason was to hurt Keeley as much as she could. To hell with what it might do to her grandchild.

That brought another thought to the forefront. If Elizabeth hated her that much, could she have arranged the abductions? Did the hatred she harbored have a more sinister and evil agenda than just making Keeley’s life miserable?

She had said no before. Now she wasn’t so sure.

“I’m as sorry as I can be, Mizz Fairchild, but there aren’t any grounds to take that child away from Keeley. She’s right. FBI cleared her of anything to do with your son’s abduction.”

Sitting at her desk, Elizabeth absently sorted through her mail as she listened to Judge Albright whine. At his pause, she huffed out a long, loud sigh to give him the idea that she was disappointed not only in the news, but also in him. The more he felt he had let her down, the more control she had over him.

The sheriff’s visit to Keeley had accomplished her goal. Keeping Keeley on edge and in fear was one of the
many perks of being the most powerful person in town. She had known there was no basis for removing the child, and she most certainly did not want that child in her house. She already housed Miranda’s obnoxious little brat, why would she want another one? Especially one that looked identical to her mother. Elizabeth shuddered at the thought. If one had to be found, why couldn’t it at least be the one who looked like Stephen?

“Uh … Mizz Fairchild … uh, ma’am?”

“That’s disappointing, Judge Albright. She’s an unfit mother … we all know that.”

“Yes’m … but—”

“Perhaps in the future, you’ll be able to make up for your incompetence. For now, goodbye.” She ended the call before he could sputter out another apology.

Quite pleased with how the day had developed, despite the unnerving information that one of the children had been found, Elizabeth placed another call.

“Fairview Bank and Trust,” said the feminine voice.

“Milton Angle, please. This is Elizabeth Fairchild.”

“Oh yes, Mrs. Fairchild. One moment please.”

The urgency and deference in the woman’s voice pleased Elizabeth. At least someone knew her importance.

“Mrs. Fairchild, how are you?”

“Milton, did we not agree a few weeks ago that you would find a way to remove Keeley from that house?”

“We did, Mrs. Fairchild, but since she’s about to put it on the market, I figured you’d want to wait awhile. That way, if you really want it—”

“Are you suggesting that I would offer her money for it?” Elizabeth didn’t even have to pretend her disapproval and astonishment. The very idea of paying the slut for that house revolted her.

“Well, um …” Apparently realizing he’d said the wrong thing, he backtracked and said, “These things
take time. Your son’s estate made excellent provisions for Keeley. Even if we figure out a way to say she’s not legally entitled to the house, it’ll still belong to his young’uns. He—”

“Those
young’uns
are missing. They may be dead for all we know.”

So what if one of them had been found. Milton probably didn’t know that. The truth was inconsequential to her goal.

“Yes, ma’am, that’s true, but your son left Keeley in charge of their estate. He willed everything to her.”

“I don’t care if he left her the entire balance of the world treasury department, that house should not belong to her. My son would never have left the bulk of his estate to her if she hadn’t threatened him in some way.” Elizabeth added a small sob. Men could be so weak when it came to a woman’s tears. “Just knowing she’s living off of his death money is almost more than I can bear.”

“Now, now, dear lady. Don’t you fret. We’ll figure out something. It’s just going to take some time.”

“Thank you so much, Milton. You’ve always been a friend to the Fairchilds. When the time comes for your review, I’ll make certain the board of directors and shareholders are aware of your professionalism and commitment.”

“Why, thank you, ma’am. I do my best.”

“You’ll let me know as soon as you have some good news for me?”

“Yes, ma’am. The instant I know something.”

“Good.” Elizabeth hung up the phone, more than a little pleased. For a day that hadn’t started well, it hadn’t turned out too badly after all.

A small smile twisted at her mouth. Keeley would never be able to sell the house. The Fairchilds were the only family within a hundred miles who could afford to
buy it. And Elizabeth sure as hell wasn’t going to pay money for it.

Neither the house nor Stephen’s money meant anything. What she wanted more than anything was to see Keeley suffer. The slut would rue the day she tried to dig herself out of the garbage she came from.

The hum of the desktop computer behind her was a distant buzzing sound, lulling Keeley into a zombielike daze. She was so damned tired.

Hannah had been home for a week, and except for those few hours of peace that first night, sleep had become more elusive than ever. Slumber came in fits and spurts. She was constantly waking up to make sure Hannah was all right … that she was really home. And the nightmares had become even more horrendous than before. Now that she knew for sure the girls weren’t together, all sorts of hideous images were coming to her about Hailey’s whereabouts.