Racing Against Time

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“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.