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“Who are you?”
“Airport security,” he snapped as he dropped his hand. “Quick, tell me what happened.”
Julia related the facts. As she spoke, they hurried to the elevator, retracing her steps, scouring the elevator when it emptied of people, searching each floor of the parking garage, looking in among the sea of cars for a tall blond man, a woman with dark eyes, a ten-month-old baby in a white blanket.
“It’s useless,” Julia cried as they reentered the airport. She faced the fact that the couple could have transferred to a different terminal, boarded a private plane.
A knot of uniforms surrounded the lawyer. Julia’s heart leapt in a surge of hope.
“Maybe they found him,” the man said.
Julia called out, “Monsieur Pepin? Is Leo safe?”
As one, the crowd turned to face Julia. “No, no,” Monsieur Pepin said, his face now pale, his voice jittery. “There is no sign, I’m afraid. He’s vanished into thin air.”
A huge man with tiny glasses perched on his nose and white-blond hair parted in the middle strode toward Julia. “San Francisco police,” he said, flipping open a badge. “Detective Morris. I need to ask you a few questions, Miss Sheridan. Let’s start with why you ran off.”
“I remembered seeing three people fitting the descriptions Monsieur Pepin gave me,” Julia said, her voice shaky and it wasn’t just because of Leo. Standing face-to-face, more or less, with a uniformed police officer who towered over her made her feel small and vulnerable. “I thought there might be time to catch them in the garage. This gentleman—” She paused here, turning to face the man who’d been helping her, hoping to enlist his aid in this explanation but he’d disappeared. She glanced in a full circle—he was gone.
“Miss Sheridan?”
“Where did the guy from airport security go?”
“Airport security is fanning out all over the airport. I need to ask you a few questions.”
Julia’s head threatened to explode. Years of helplessness, of being shuffled between foster homes, of never being in control, never belonging, never understanding, never being able to count on anyone or anything came charging back.
“Miss Sheridan?” The detective’s voice sounded softer this time.
“Leo’s gone,” she said, tears flooding her eyes as she gazed up at him. “Oh, my heavens, he’s gone.”
Detective Morris took her arm and guided her to a plastic chair. She closed her eyes. Leo had been her chance to make the world a better place for one small, orphaned child.
And she’d failed him.
HOURS LATER, after answering a million questions, Julia made her way back to her car.
She attempted to make a mental list. George Abbot needed to be alerted—there would be questions asked of him, embarrassing questions about why anyone would pretend he and Julia were engaged. And the babysitter she’d arranged to watch Leo on Monday morning when she had to fly a load of computer parts to Fresno had to be cancelled. Unless Leo was back by then, unless his kidnappers returned him—
Face it: the hoax was too elaborate for an easy resolution. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to take Leo. The police expected a ransom call and had arranged to tap her home phone. She was directed to keep a close account of all incoming cell phone transmissions.
She had to shake this fuzzy feeling that made each step an effort. She had to get past the horror of what had happened and work on a solution.
Trouble was, Julia didn’t have anything to ransom. She owed money on her car, on her house, on every credit card. She had no rich family—for that matter, no family at all now that Nicole was dead. She had several friends but they were poor, too. Except for George Abbot, but he was her boss and his money was tied up in his company. The bank would laugh in her face if she asked for a loan.
How was she ever going to find Leo and get him back? Oh, why had her tire blown out this morning of all mornings? Why had she been so polite to the man who had been determined to put the spare on for her? Why hadn’t she told him to get lost, that she’d do it herself? Why hadn’t she given herself more time? What good was baby furniture without a baby?
Worse thoughts crept into her head as she exited the elevator and started toward her car. Was Leo okay? Would the kidnappers take good care of him? At least he was too young to identify them. The worries circled around in her head like vultures over carrion.
One thing was more or less certain. The child was no longer at the airport. All exiting vehicles and departing flights had been searched but the time delay between his disappearance and the start of the investigation meant there had been plenty of time for Leo’s kidnappers to whisk him away in a car or even on a plane if the timing was good. The police would check every flight manifesto, looking for an unexplained babe in arms, but Julia had a feeling it would all be in vain. Whoever took him was a wizard with identification papers—Leo would be well documented under a phony name. Anyone could claim Leo was theirs. Who would ever suspect?
She’d never before considered how vulnerable a baby was. He couldn’t talk for himself. If he cried, his kidnappers would pat him on the back and onlookers would think he was just fussy. Without fingerprinting or DNA samples, Leo was a ten-month-old Caucasian boy just like any other ten-month-old Caucasian boy. He had a little strawberry mark on the back of his neck, but who would see that with blankets pulled up around his head?
Even in the dim light of the parking garage she could see ahead to her car and discern the fuzzy raised blue trunk of the huge stuffed elephant she’d bought to welcome Leo. That elephant had been her version of a promise: Everything will be okay. I’ll make it okay.
Tears filled her eyes. The emptiness of her arms mirrored the big hole in her heart.
The sound of a car engine revving broke through her thoughts. She looked up to find two headlights bearing down on her. In the next instant, someone tackled her from the right. She felt as much as heard a dull thud as she flew, still trapped in her tackler’s arms, until they landed on the pavement, his body cushioning hers. She looked up to see two red taillights turning the corner toward the exit ramp.
The man spent little time righting himself and dragging Julia to her feet as well. The fall had knocked the breath out of her.
She looked up to find clear gray eyes, eyes she’d seen just hours before as he helped her search for Leo.
“Are you okay?” he said.
She tore herself from his grip. “You!”
“Listen—”
“No,” she said, stepping away from him, brushing off her clothes, ashamed of the way her hands trembled. “You’re not with airport security, are you?”
Wincing, he mumbled, “No.”
Noticing the tear in the sleeve of his suit and the blood-streaked white shirt beneath, she said, “You’re hurt. The car hit you.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said.
She took off her wool scarf and wrapped it around his arm. “You need to get it cleaned and disinfected.”
His face reflected none of the pain the gash must have inflicted. He said, “It’s nothing.”
Tucking one end of the scarf under the makeshift bandage, she narrowed her eyes. “What do you have to do with the disappearance of Leonardo Chastain?”
“Nothing, I swear,” he said.
She stared hard at him, the weaker part of herself wanting to believe him, wanting to think he was as he portrayed himself. But he’d already lied to her.
She said, “I was late today picking up Leo because some doofus on the freeway stopped to help me when my tire blew. I couldn’t get rid of him and he didn’t know what he was doing. And then right after I found out Leo was gone, you appeared and led me on a merry chase up and down the elevator—”
“I led you?” he said. “You were the one leading.”
“And now Leo is gone and you show up again—”
“You’re forgetting the car that came within inches of killing you just now,” he said, his voice tight. “The one I saved you from.” Brow wrinkled, he addressed his next comments to himself. “I don’t get it,” he mumbled. “Who was driving that car?”
“A bad driver—”
“I don’t think so. I’ve been watching you since you got off the elevator and began walking this way. You’ve been preoccupied. That car came out of the shadows, headed straight for you. And that doesn’t fit—”
Julia, digging in her shoulder bag for her keys, kept moving toward her car, aware he followed. She zeroed in on the blue elephant. “Fit what?” she said.
No answer.
Keys in her fist, arranged as a weapon with one poking out between each finger, she faced him. She said, “If you take one more step—”
He stopped, holding up his hands. He smiled then—the first smile she’d seen. If he thought she was one of those women who rolled over when a handsome man smiled at them he was in for a surprise. Julia had been smiled at many times by men she didn’t know and seldom had anything good come of it. But then she’d been weaker, smaller, more frightened—a victim. She reached inside herself, reclaiming the gutsy broad she’d had to become to survive. “Go away,” she said.
“Julia, listen to me.”
She couldn’t remember giving him her name. It jarred her into mumbling, “I’m listening.”
“I came here to see you. I came to get Leo back.”
“I knew you were in on this!” she said, tightening her grip on the keys.
“You don’t understand,” he said.
“How can I understand? You haven’t said anything.”
He looked down at his feet and then at her. Eyes smoldering with an intensity that unnerved her, he repeated, “I came to get Leo back.”
“Get him back? If you didn’t know he was going to be kidnapped then how—”
“I didn’t know about the kidnapping. I came to get him back…from you.”
“From me?”
Staring into her eyes, he added, “Of course I came for him. I’m his father.”
Chapter Two
Julia absorbed this latest shock for a moment before mumbling, “Are you saying that the late William Chastain wasn’t Leo’s father?”
“No. I’m telling you that I am William Chastain.”
“He’s dead,” Julia said.
“Well, no.”
“Nicole called me the week before she died and told me he was killed when his boat blew up.”
“And his body?”
“Between the explosion and the river currents, what body?”
“Exactly. I know it’s hard for you to believe, but I didn’t die on the river. I escaped.”
Julia shook her head. “Preposterous. Why would Nicole say you were dead if you weren’t?”
“Because she didn’t know I wasn’t.”
Julia shook her head again. “This is crazy—”
“I know it sounds nuts. But I can explain.”
“So do it.”
“Not here.”
She stared at him.
“Listen, Leo has big blue eyes and fuzzy reddish hair, like his mother. Like she had. He has a little mark on the back of his neck, a birthmark. You’re Julia Sheridan, Nicole’s cousin. You’ve just known Nicole a couple of years. I believe she took advantage of your generosity by calling on you to watch Leo when she flew down here to party with her pals. Am I close?”
“Close,” Julia said. “Trouble is, the people who took Leo knew all about me, too.”
“Then ask me something unique about Nicole.”
Julia rubbed her temples. Would this confusion never stop? She looked into his eyes and once again resisted the pull to trust him, to take him at face value. She said, “Why don’t you just show me some identification?”
He smiled again, but this time the thought crossed her mind that the gesture was fueled by frustration. “I don’t have any identification,” he said. “My wallet was in my suit jacket when my boat blew up. I wasn’t wearing it at the time.”
“Of course you weren’t,” she said.
He waved aside her sarcasm. “If I understood what was happening in there with the lawyer, the kidnappers produced all sorts of fake documents, right? If I was one of them, don’t you think I’d at least have made myself a nice official-looking Washington state driver’s license?”
He had a point.
“Look at me,” he added.
She did as he asked and for the first time, she noticed the details that she’d been too preoccupied to notice before.
“What happened to you?” she said. “Why are you wearing someone else’s clothes? What happened to your forehead and cheeks? When’s the last time you slept?”
“The clothes belong to some poor guy who left his car unlocked and his dry cleaning in the backseat.”
“You stole a suit?”
“I just wish he’d been a taller man,” he said and they both glanced down at the pant legs, which were too short. The sleeves were, too.
“What about those marks on your face? And your hair…?”
“The marks are leftover burns from the boat explosion. The hair got burned, too. Not too bad, but it frizzled off in spots.”
Julia suppressed a sigh. Things just kept getting more and more bizarre.
“After the crash, I managed to swim to shore. I had a friend with an old cabin cruiser in a small marina. He’s out of town. I jimmied the lock on his boat and hunkered down to figure things out.”
“Why? Why not just go home?”
