For the first time, she wondered if their marriage would survive.
"Mom, can I watch the video in my room?" Brian interrupted her thoughts to ask. He looked pale and tired, much worse than an ear infection would cause.
Nancy bent down and gave him a hard hug. "Of course, honey. I'll make you a bowl of soup and a sandwich and bring it upstairs."
"I'm not real hungry."
She frowned. "You should be. You didn't eat much of your waffle this morning."
"Neither did Dad. And he's bigger than me and felt much worse."
Nancy's chest tightened. "Dad looked a lot better this morning. His face was hardly swollen at all."
"Yeah, but he must still have been hurting, because he was in a really bad mood. He yelled at Uncle Connor. And I heard him walking around all night."
"What were you doing up?"
"My ear hurt." Brian stare'd at the floor for a minute, and Nancy had the distinct feeling it was more than Brian's ear that had kept him awake.
His next question confirmed that. "Are you mad at Dad?"
A hard swallow. "No, Brian, I'm not mad." "You look mad. You sound mad, too. So does Dad." She had to say something to make it better. On the other hand, she couldn't lie. So she settled for a partial truth. "Dad is working very hard these days. He's tired. So am I. Maybe that's making us less patient than usual. I'm sorry if our moods are upsetting you." She tipped up Brian's chin, desperate to erase the pain he was feeling. "Sweetheart, none of this has anything to do with you. You're the greatest joy in our lives. Dad and I both love you very, very much. You do know that, don't you?"
Brian nodded, but the sad look was still there. "Yeah, Mom, I know."
1:15 P.M.
Stephen paced around his office, feeling like a hamster in a wheel. He was running as frantically as he could but getting nowhere fast.
Neither Cliff, Marty, nor Greg had turned up anything on Walker Development. Not yet. Then again, none of them had been instructed to make this a top priority. They didn't know the real reason he was conducting a background check on Philip Walker. And he couldn't risk telling them. Not without getting into messy explanations. Plus, he didn't know where the breach in security had come from, who'd told Walker he was conducting due diligence. The worst thing would be if whoever that was found out he was still pursuing the matter—with increased urgency—despite the beating they'd provided as a warning.
No, the problem and the pressure were his. On his own, he had to find something on Walker. Now.
He went over to the window, rested his forehead against the cool glass. Unlike his colleagues, he wasn't investigating Walker Development. He was checking out Philip Walker himself, making a few subtle calls to see what the man was about. If there was any angle to take that might result in nabbing the son of a bitch, this would be it. Scum like Walker showed their true colors in some aspect of their lives. And whatever that aspect was, they didn't want it made public.
A tidbit of dirt would be all the ammunition he needed. Some nasty little skeleton Walker wanted kept in the closet. If he uncovered that, he'd have grounds for a swap. His silence for Walker's.
The whole scenario made him sick. Philip Walker belonged in prison, not out there victimizing local officials and businessmen. But if Stephen tried to pot him there, it would be his own life, and the lives of his family, that would blow up in his face.
He couldn't let that happen. He had to follow through with his plan to put the brakes on Walker, to get him out of their lives, and to sever whatever business ties he had with Leaf Brook.
But how? He had to move fast. At the same time, he had to keep a low profile. Walker was keeping a close eye on his actions. He needed someone else to do his dirty work, to go after Walker without involving him in the investigation. He needed a professional.
As if in answer to his thoughts, a brief knock sounded at the door, and Cliff poked his head into the office. "Good, you're in. Celeste wasn't at her desk, and ..." He stopped, staring at his friend's face. "What the hell happened to you?"
"Car trouble." Stephen had perfected this explanation after giving it a dozen times. He now gave it again, from soup to nuts, ending with: "Remind me never to become a mechanic."
Frowning, Cliff walked over, still studying Stephen's cuts. "Are you sure you're all right? You really sliced yourself up."
"I'm sure. Although last night I wasn't feeling so cavalier. If it weren't for Connor, I'd probably have spent the night on the parking-lot floor. He got me home. Nancy got me fixed up. So I'm on the mend."
"Good." Like everyone else, Cliff seemed to accept Stephen's accounting of the incident. He took a gulp of coffee. "I dropped in on my way back from court. I wanted to make sure you knew your father was driving in from Connecticut on Thursday. I didn't know if Connor had mentioned it to you."
"He mentioned it. Did you speak with my father directly?"
A nod. "He didn't want to break in on your meetings yesterday. He figured that between Connor and me, one of us would get the news to you." A tactful pause as Cliff inspected his cup. "I wouldn't be too concerned about this visit. Your dad's pretty high on the current polls. It should be smooth sailing."
Stephen arched a brow. "Yeah, right."
Cliff cleared his throat. "Do you want me here when he comes?"
"It would probably be useful. You know, you and Connor, flanking me on either side. A united front against a formidable adversary."
"It's not quite that bad." Cliff chuckled, but there was Understanding in his eyes. He'd known Harrison Stratford for too many years, both personally and professionally, long enough to learn never to minimize his imperious presence. And he was well aware of Harrison's expectations for Stephen. "Besides, you've got one foot in the door of the state senate. That'll put him in a good mood for sure."
"Don't bet on it." Stephen rubbed the back of his neck, eager to get to his agenda. "Cliff, you didn't happen to dig up anything on Walker's company, did you?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary." Cliff shot him a quizzical look. "Why? Were you expecting something?"
A nonchalant shrug. "Not really. There's just something about the guy ... I don't know."
"He's a little pushy, I'll give you that. And, yeah, he's rough around the edges. But that's not news. You've dealt with him in the past."
"True, but not on anything as big as this." Stephen debated whether to give Cliff more to go on before he asked for a name, then realized he had to. Cliff was too smart to take this request at face value. He had to be offered some reason for Stephen to want Walker investigated.
"It's not just a question of being rough around the edges," he clarified. "I get the feeling Walker's a real street fighter. Which could be nothing more than a veneer. On the other hand, it could mean his character is less than stellar. I just don't know. What I do know is that for Leaf Brook to give him this municipal parking contract would mean entrusting a significant squrce of city money to a private individual. And while the idea has merit, I have a fiduciary responsibility to Leaf Brook to check out Walker thoroughly, just to be on the safe side."
"I see your point."
"Good." Having gotten this far, Stephen negotiated the next step. "Do you have the name and number of that private investigator my father used when we checked out Braxton's background? I liked the guy; he was quick, thorough, and discreet."
Cliff nodded "I've got his information on file." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his PalmPi-lot. Flipping it open, he pressed a few buttons. "Here it is. Harry Shaw. He's on the Post Road in White Plains. I'll write down his address and phone number for you." Grabbing a notepad from Stephen's desk, he scribbled the information.
"Thanks." That took care of the biggest obstacle. But there was another. Someone had to speak to the attorneys involved in Walker's out-of-area business transactions, just in case the bit of dirt he needed was a legal indiscretion that a lawyer wouldn't offer up to a PI. Cliff was the logical choice for the job. He was sharp and t
rustworthy and had the necessary legal credentials.
Careful, Stephen cautioned himself. Say as little as possible.
He sank back into his chair, wincing as his ribs protested the motion. "The other avenue I want to pursue is contacting attorneys outside Westchester County who've been involved in Walker's commercial projects— either those he developed or those he managed. I want to make sure they have only positive things to say about him."
Cliff shot him a puzzled look. "Okay, Steve, I don't get it. Why the sudden reticence? You were satisfied with your past dealings with the guy. Enough to make you pretty gung-ho about his taking on this contract. At least, you were at first. Did something happen to change that?"
Stephen had his answer prepared. "I'm getting pressure from the city council. That's what happened."
"Enough pressure to launch a full-scale background check? I'm sure you've done some due diligence on Walker in the past."
"Some, yes. But the city council is squeamish about this deal. I'm anticipating a big-time interrogation. I need to be ready to answer anything they might throw my way. I want all the facts. That means broadening due diligence to cover areas outside Westchester County. Harry Shaw can't make attorney-to-attorney inquiries. You can."
Cliff lowered his cup to the desk. "So can you. Last I remember, you passed the bar. Why not just call and ask the questions yourself?"
It was time to call a halt to this interrogation.
"Because I'm the mayor," Stephen replied, keeping his gaze fixed steadily on his friend. "If I made those phone calls myself, it would make the background check look like a big deal. Like I didn't trust Walker. That's what I'm trying to avoid. I'm asking you a favor, Cliff. I'll give you the names. You make a few discreet phone calls—today, if possible. And stop grilling me. I know you're a good lawyer. But I'm not on the witness stand. So cool it."
Cliff heard the finality in Stephen's tone loud and clear. "All right," he agreed, stifling whatever questions he still had. "If it makes you feel better, give me the names. I'll check things out."
4:30 P.M.
Nancy peeked into Brian's room, relieved to see that he'd dozed off: He was exhausted. With the ear infection, the stress, and the lack of sleep, he really needed a nap.
Not that he'd overexerted himself today. To the contrary, he'd been uncharacteristically subdued. He'd spent most of the day in his room, playing with his action figures, glancing disinterestedly at the videotape they'd rented. He'd perked up a little when Connor dropped by with his homework, only to become even more depressed when his uncle reported having no luck finding the baseball cap at the school lost and found. The only time Nancy had seen glimpses of the old Brian was when Connor gave him Miss Talbot's rabbit's foot. Then he'd beamed, firing questions about when Miss Talbot's father had given it to her, wanting to know the number of wins and losses she'd had that season.
Following that brief resurgence of exuberance, Brian had taken the rabbit's foot and gone back to his room.
He hadn't eaten at all. Even with Connor's coaxing, he'd only nibbled at his sandwich and popped one or two malted milkballs into his mouth. He'd asked about Stephen twice. Hearing his father was doing much better, he'd curled up on his bed—with the rabbit's foot—and waited for him to come home.
Damn Stephen for not calling, Nancy thought bitterly. It would have meant the world to their son.
She tucked a blanket around him, bending to press her lips to his forehead. No fever. And the fact that he wasn't fitful meant the medicine was doing its job. As for parenting, that job was apparently being left up to her. Fine.
She was getting more accustomed to flying solo since Stephen had started fighting his demons once again.
Downstairs, the doorbell rang.
Quickly, Nancy scooted out of Brian's room, easing his door shut behind her. Whoever was there, she didn't want them to disturb her son.
She hurried down the steps, through the hall, and to the front door.
"Who is it?"
No answer.
She peeked through the peephole and saw no one. That was weird.
She was just about to go back upstairs when she heard the sound of a van pulling away. She glanced through the peephole again. A delivery truck. That explained it. A package must have been dropped off. Maybe their pharmacist had gotten hold of the antibiotic sooner than expected.
She opened the front door. There was no prescription tucked between it and the screen. She stepped outside and glanced at the front step. There was a small box sitting there. It was addressed to her. Oddly, there was no return address.
Studying the package, she went back inside, pushing the door shut behind her. Who could this be from? she wondered. She hadn't ordered anything. Nor was Stephen in a frame of mind to send her gifts.
In the kitchen, she set the box on the table, got out a letter opener, and sliced through the tape. She folded back the sides of the package. The first thing she saw was a flash of red. Lying on top of that object was an envelope, presumably with a card.
She pulled out both things—and froze.
The flash of red was Brian's baseball cap.
For a long moment, she stared at it, turning it over in her hands as an ugly sense of foreboding gripped her. Abruptly, she tossed the cap onto the table and snatched up the envelope. On it was typed "Mrs. Stratford." She ripped it open, yanked out the note inside, and unfolded it.
Dear Mrs. Stratford,
I believe your son accidentally misplaced his cap. I'm returning it. Sometimes I think kids would lose not only their hats but their heads if parents didn 't make smart choices for them. I hope your husband makes smart choices for Brian. It will ensure he grows up strong and healthy. Urge the mayor to do so. Urge him not to take unnecessary risks. Gambling with your son's safety would be a stupid and dangerous thing to do. It could result in future accidents and lead to untold heartache. Don't let that happen.
Very truly yours,
A Friend
Nancy didn't remember sinking into the kitchen chair. She didn't remember much of anything. Her hands were shaking, and her vision was blurred by tears. She read the note through twice, her entire body quaking as she did.
Someone was threatening Brian's life. The same someone who had Stephen over a financial barrel and who'd had him roughed up last night. That someone knew Stephen was gambling. And he was blackmailing him with it. Only it wasn't just Stephen who was at risk anymore. It was their seven-and-a-half-year-old son.
She crossed over and snatched the phone from the cradle, punching up Stephen's private number.
Celeste answered. "Mayor Stratford's office."
"I need to speak with him, Celeste." Nancy wasn't asking, she was telling.
A surprised pause. The mayor's wife was always cordial. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Stratford, but he's behind closed doors and asked not to be disturbed."
"Is he alone?"
"Well, yes, but..."
"Then put him on. This is an emergency."
Another pause. "Of course. Just a minute."
Mere seconds passed before Stephen picked up. "Nance? What's the matter? Is Brian okay?"
"You bastard," she managed, tears clogging her throat. "No wonder you're worried about Brian. How could you let this happen? How could you endanger your own son? And how could you keep it from me?"
Stephen sucked in his breath. "What happened? Goddammit, Nancy, is Brian all right?"
"For now, yes." She hardly knew what she was saying, she was so hysterical. "He's asleep. That's after waiting for you to call all day. But that's not what you're asking, is it?"
"Nancy, calm down. Calm down, and tell me what's going on."
"Tell you what's going on? You have it backward. I'm not the one being blackmailed. I'm not the one causing my son's life to be threatened."
'Threatened? Who threatened Brian?"
"A friend," she said sarcastically. "The one who dropped off Brian's baseball cap with a note telling you to be a good boy or else."
/>
"Shit." Stephen's insides gave a violent twist. "He was there?"
"A delivery truck did the dirty deed. It brought Brian's cap and this message." She read the note aloud, her voice cracking three times as she did. "God damn you, Stephen," she ended, sobs choking her. "God damn you to hell."
"Nancy, listen to me. I've got this under control."
"Under control?" she countered shrilly. "You call what's happened these past few days having things under control?"
"I call it a fight to survive," Stephen shot back. "I call it racing the clock to protect my son. And to protect you. Why do you think I didn't tell you anything? I knew you'd go to pieces like this."
Nancy's head was hammering so loudly she could scarcely think. "Who's behind this?" she demanded. "The truth, Stephen. Who's blackmailing you, and why?"
Stephen sucked in his breath. "Fine," he fired in that tone that meant he was about to lose it and blow a gasket. "You want to know? Here it is. I'm being held over a barrel by a real estate developer who wants a big city contract and won't stop until he gets it. He knows about my gambling. I've got two days to get him the contract, or he' 11 tip off the media and the cops—not to mention what he'll do to Brian."
"Oh, God." Nancy wiped the perspiration off her brow. "Okay, then. Just give him the contract."
"It's not that easy. Number one, the city council isn't behind me on this. So we won't get enough votes. Number two, Walker's scum. I can't commit Leaf Brook to a deal as big as this—not with him on the other side."
Hysterical laughter bubbled up in Nancy's throat. "You're being honorable now? You've destroyed yourself and your whole family, and now you're concerned about morality?"
"It's not about morality!" he blasted. "It's about getting rid of this bastard for good. I'm digging around. I've got to be careful. Walker's got a mole somewhere. That's why I came home looking like I did last night. But that's not going to stop me. I hired a private investigator. He'll dig up some dirt on the SOB. Something that could ruin him. And then ..."