"Okay," she accepted quietly.
A pause. "Julia, you've helped more than you know. I can't thank you enough. I'll call you later."
It wasn't until after they'd hung up that Julia remembered that later she'd be out with Greg.
6:40 P.M.
The wooden sign that said "Walker Development" was propped up against a tree in front of the construction site. Unlike the other Leaf Brook projects that Walker Development was currently involved in building, this one was stalled. The steel girders lay dormant, the concrete foundation was only half filled. The crew hadn't been there in two weeks, since a hold-up with the architect had delayed submission of the updated plans to the building department. No plans meant no permit. As a result, construction had stopped in its tracks.
And the site was deserted. That's why he'd chosen it. It was the perfect hiding place, for more reasons than one.
He parked behind the trailer and climbed out of his car. At the passenger side, he eased Brian Stratford to a sitting position. The boy was still a little groggy, although the chloroform he'd readministered was starting to wear off. Just to be on the safe side, he yanked his ski mask on before carrying Brian out of the car. Later it wouldn't matter, but right now he preferred to remain anonymous.
He couldn't wait for this whole damn thing to be over. He wanted to unload Stephen Stratford's son, get the ball rolling, and reap his reward.
Scooping Brian up, he headed quickly for the trailer. He climbed inside the dark, cluttered compartment, just as Brian picked up his head and gazed around. At first, he looked bleary and confused. Then memory returned, and his eyes widened with fear. He began struggling, crying out as he did. His attacker ignored his protests and plopped him into a chair.
"Don't bother howling," he muttered, yanking Brian's wrists behind him, then binding both his ankles and his wrists. "No one can hear you. But just to be on the safe side . . ." He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, crammed a portion of it into Brian's mouth. "There. That should keep you nice and quiet."
He squatted down, peering at Brian's terrified face through the slits in his mask. "You're gonna be here for a couple of days. So take it easy. I'll be back to check on you. If you're good, I'll bring food and water. And if your father's good, you'll be home on Monday. Understand?"
Tears glistened in Brian's eyes, but he nodded.
"Good. See you tomorrow." He left the trailer and drove off.
7:20 P.M.
Leaf Brook Police Headquarters
Martin Hart leaned a hip against his desk. Folding his arms across his chest, he frowned at Connor and Stephen.
"Let's get to the pressing issue and leave the mall details for later," he stated flatly. "Philip Walker. I'm even antsier about him now than I was when I spoke to Connor yesterday."
Stephen leaned forward in his chair. "Why? Did you find something else on him?"
"Something concrete, you mean?" Marty's frown deepened. "No, but the idea of a coincidence is sure looking more unlikely by the minute. Get this. I did some more extensive digging into auto thefts that took place in Leaf Brook. I expanded my search to cover the last two years. And guess what?"
He let his question hang for an instant before answering it himself.
"As it turns out, there were a bunch of thefts that occurred in privately owned and maintained lots. The incidents were spread out over a period of time, which is why they didn't raise any red flags with my department. But these crimes had something in common with the more recent thefts, the ones in the city-run parking facilities. None of them took place in lots maintained by Walker Development. Correction: they weren't maintained by Walker at the time of the thefts. Afterward, now, that's another story. Suddenly, all the small companies that owned the lots were eager as hell to turn their security over to Walker Development. It's like they needed convincing, and Walker conveniently provided it."
"More proof the guy's a crook," Stephen muttered, dragging a hand through his hair.
Marty's brows rose. "You don't sound too surprised. Mayor Stratford. Now, why is that? Could it be you're dealing with that same kind of arm twisting right now? Because it occurred to me that that's why Councilman Kirson's car might have been stolen. It happened right at a time when Kirson's vote could make a difference to Philip Walker. So tell me, was that Walker's way of winning the city council over to the idea of giving him the municipal parking contract? Has he been strongly encouraging you to help him do the same?"
Stephen met Marty's gaze head-on, without a trace of evasiveness. "Yes. The problem is, I have no tangible evidence, other than some dicey conversations and a few ugly actions I can't actually pin on him. Plus, there's a lot more on the line here than money or contracts, a lot I can't get into with you yet. We've been friends a long time, Marty. I'm asking for your understanding. And, of course, for your cooperation. By all means, keep investigating Walker. But do it discreetly. The minute you get something on the guy, we'll jump all over it. You have my word on that."
Marty had been a cop too long not to recognize what Stephen was really saying. His eyes narrowed in anger. "If he's threatening you ..."
"As I said, I have no proof. But I intend to get it."
Connor listened to this exchange with a mixture of surprise and pride. He hadn't expected Stephen to be so frank. But maybe he should have, based on their last few conversations. Stephen loved his family. He wanted to turn his life around, to reclaim his principles. That took a hell of a lot of courage, especially since it meant putting his own neck on the line.
Well, if Stephen was marching into battle, he wasn't going to do it alone.
"Just give us a little time, Marty," Connor inserted, throwing his weight behind his brother's. "We're leaving no stone unturned. Stephen's working on it I'm working on it. I've also got some private business contacts working on it. They're in constant touch with me. We're checking out everyone Walker's done business with over the past decade, even longer if necessary. If there's something to find on this guy, we'll find it"
"Greg's turned up nothing yet?" Marty asked.
"No," Stephen replied. "But he's been harried with other work, and he has no idea how critical this is. So I can't blame him."
Marty cleared his throat. "Will Walker be at the opening tomorrow? He was a big investor in the building of this mall."
"I'm sure he will."
A stiff nod. 'Then so will I. Nothing like the personal touch of a police chief to strike fear in the wrong hearts. Just in case Walker feels like carrying out whatever threats he might or might not be issuing."
Stephen understood. "Thanks, Marty. I appreciate it."
"No problem." A corner of his mouth lifted wryly. "The good news is, the mall's parking lot should be safe. With Walker having such a big investment in the place, I doubt we'll have to worry about any thefts taking place in that twelve-story monstrosity tomorrow."
9:05 p.m.
This dinner had definitely been a mistake.
Julia shifted in her chair, taking another sip of wine in the hopes that it would calm her nerves. So far, it hadn't. Neither had the conversation, although Greg had tried everything to relax her. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't even her feelings for Connor that were interfering with her evening or causing her steak to lie like lead in her stomach. It was her worry over Brian.
My God, this involved more than family tension or discord. This involved physical danger. Or the threat of it, at least. It was a good thing Nancy Stratford had whisked Brian away in time.
Still, the questions kept crowding her brain.
Why hadn't Stephen Stratford called the police? Why were he and Connor keeping Walker's threat so hush-hush and doing all the investigating on their own? What was it she was missing that would keep them from blowing the whistle on Walker? Lack of proof? The police could help find it. Political fallout? The city could only applaud Mayor Stratford for exposing a criminal. Then what?
"Earth to Julia." Greg was leaning across the table, tapping her w
ine glass. "Are you making telepathic contact with that thing?"
She gave him a rueful smile. "Sorry. Actually, I was wishing I could drink more. Being totally smashed might make me forget what a miserable week it's been. The problem is, I drove myself here. So getting drunk is out."
Greg chuckled. "That bad, huh?" He took a sip of his own wine. "Is this all school-related?'
"More or less," she hedged. "It's been like a circus there since Brian went with his mom to California. Jack has me dancing over to the mayor's office with homework. The press is huddled outside my door. I guess I'm not used to the political scene like you are."
A snort of disgust. "Maybe I'm around it a lot more than you, but you never get used to it. Especially when it comes to the media. They're like leeches." Greg's brows lifted quizzically. "Speaking of Brian, how are things with you and Connor Stratford—still progressing?"
Julia felt color tinge her cheeks. It wasn't that the question was unfair—after all, her relationship with Connor was why she'd shut things down with Greg. It just felt weird discussing such a personal subject with a guy she knew had feelings for her.
"Too personal?" Greg guessed, letting her off the hook.
"Partly. Also, I'm not even sure how to answer you. I wouldn't say things are progressing. I'd say they're fermenting."
Greg's lips curved at her choice of words. "Into a fine wine or a sour pickle?"
"Ah, now, that's the question," she said, striving for as much honesty as she felt comfortable with. "My relationship with Connor is one big paradox. Like I said, I'm not into the political scene. And I'm not into money. Well, the name Stratford is synonymous with both. So I feel a little like Dorothy Gale from Kansas. I'm in Emerald City, but I'm not sure I want to stay there."
"There's no place like home, huh?" Greg commiserated gently.
"Something like that, yes." Julia studied his face. He didn't seem to be bothered by what she'd said. But he did seem strained and tired. "I hope I haven't upset you."
"You didn't. I asked. Besides, I've been regaling you with my problems all night. And you've been a trouper, listening to me. Even after I promised we wouldn't talk about work." Greg rubbed his eyes. "Sorry. I don't mean to be rude. It's no reflection on your company, believe me. I'm just beat. The mayor's been tied up in meetings all week, my secretary's out sick, and I've still got a bunch of figures to go through before I can finalize this budget."
"Are you still planning on going in tomorrow?"
"Yup." Greg yawned. "It'll be nice and quiet. Everyone's going to the mall opening, so there'll be no interruptions. I'll get an early start. I should be through by the end of the day."
Julia picked up her purse. "Why don't we call it a night?" she suggested, pulling out her wallet. "It's almost ten o'clock. We're both exhausted. We've had a great meal and a nice talk. Now it's time for a good night's sleep, especially for you."
Greg shot her a rueful look. "You don't mind?"
"Not a bit." Truthfully, Julia couldn't wait to get home. She wanted to try to reach Connor, see what else he could tell her. "My treat, as promised," she said firmly, waving away Greg's offer to pay. "You saved me from cold pizza and boring TV reruns."
"That sounds almost as bad as preparing my budget," Greg said dryly. He stood, stretching. "Come on. I parked right next to you. I can at least walk you to your car."
They strolled across the parking lot, stopping when they reached their vehicles, which were parked beneath a bright overhead light. Greg's Audi was to the left of Julia's Beetle, and he headed around to his driver's side, waiting for her to slide between the two cars and unlock her door.
"Thanks for dinner," he called as she slid her key into the lock.
"Any time." Julia turned, flashing him a smile.
Inadvertently, her gaze flitted across his car's interior as she turned back.
With a flash of surprise, she jerked around again, staring at the bright red object lying on the side of his passenger seat.
"What's the matter?" Greg asked, seeing the stunned expression on her face.
"That rabbit's foot," she replied, pointing.
Brows knit, Greg unlocked his car, reached in, and pulled out the scrap of fur. "This?"
"Yes." She took it, checked it out carefully. "It's mine."
"You're kidding."
"No. I gave it to Connor the day Brian left town. It was meant as a good luck charm. It used to be mine. I wanted Brian to have it."
"That's odd." Greg glanced at the rabbit's foot, clearly perplexed. "The only thing I can think is that Connor didn't have a chance to give it to Brian before he and his mom left for the airport. He must have planned to send it to him instead. It probably got mixed in with all the other stuff Celeste has been packing up for Brian's care package. The poor woman's crazed. With my secretary out sick, she's been pinch hitting for me, running around like a chicken without a head. Let's see, yesterday alone she made two trips down to my car to grab some files. As a matter of fact, Cliff Henderson was down there, too. He had to get some material I brought on a due diligence matter we're conducting for the mayor." A rueful grin. "So, as you can see, my car is like Grand Central Station. Someone must have dropped your good luck charm in transit."
"Oh." Julia nodded, still clutching the rabbit's foot. She didn't know why, but for some reason it made her feel closer to Brian.
"I tell you what," Greg promised. "I'll leave it on the mayor's desk tomorrow, with a note. He can send it out Monday."
"That's fine." Julia handed it back, feeling strangely uneasy, although she had no idea why. The explanation made perfect sense. Greg had no way of knowing that Brian wasn't in California. He, like everyone else, believed Brian was with his aunt and her family. He couldn't know that Brian's well-being was being threatened. And he couldn't know how empty she felt knowing that Brian didn't have that rabbit's foot.
"Julia?" Greg prompted. "I'm sorry about the mix-up."
"It's okay. It's not your fault." She massaged her temples. "I'm just overtired. I'd better get home to bed." She patted Greg's forearm. "Thanks for a nice evening. Good night."
"Good night." He waited until her motor was on before he climbed into his car.
Then he watched her drive off, a pensive expression on his face.
10:15 P.M.
Cliff was bone-weary.
He stared down at the negatives he'd plucked out of Greg's car the day before, wondering how things had deteriorated to the point where he'd be reduced to doing what he'd done.
Who was he kidding? He knew the answer to that. The cause and the defense were the same: his love for Nancy.
For thirteen years, he'd stayed on the sidelines, watching Nancy build a life with another man—his best friend, no less—watching them marry, watching her have and raise Stephen's child. He'd stood by her side as a friend and confidant, helping her through Stephen's most trying emotional hurdles, never saying a bad word about his best friend, even though he resented the hell out of him for his weakness and how that weakness affected Nancy.
The fact was, Stephen didn't deserve her. And, no matter how he'd tried to pretend otherwise, Cliff had always secretly hoped that one day Nancy would see that for herself and walk away from the marriage.
This past Wednesday, for the first time, he had realized that wasn't going to happen—ever.
It had hit him like a ton of bricks when he drove up to Stowe, brought Brian his medicine, and, with Nancy at her breaking point, waited for her to turn to him, not as her friend but as her future.
Instead, she'd wept to him about Stephen, admitting that after hours of soul-searching, she'd faced the inevitable and had to be honest with him. She would never stop loving her husband, no matter how much easier it would be if she could. Further, to spare Cliff undue pain, she'd decided that the only fair thing was to pull away from him—or, in Cliff's mind, to shut him out.
She'd announced that he shouldn't come up to the ski lodge again while she was staying there. Not just for hi
s sake but for Brian's. It seemed that Brian had freaked out when he heard Cliff, and not Stephen, would be delivering his medicine and checking up on them. He interpreted it to mean that Cliff was assuming the role of a father figure, when it was Stephen he wanted and missed.
Bottom line? She had to consider her son first. So Cliff had to stay away.
Talk about a reality check.
He'd spent all Wednesday night digesting it. Then, yesterday, at the meeting with Harrison, Cliff had watched Stephen. The man was so caught up in his own hell, he didn't even know anyone else's existed.
That's when he'd made his decision.
Stephen's focus was about to change. He'd see someone else's hell, all right.
And in the process, his own hell womld get that much worse.
20:25 P.M.
Julia saw the flashing red light on her answering machine the minute she walked in. She ran over and pressed the play button.
"One message," the machine announced.
"Julia? I was hoping to catch you before you left for your workshop." It was Connor, sounding very troubled. "It's the only chance I'll get to call you tonight. Stephen and I are meeting with the chief of police about added security at tomorrow's huge mall opening—among other things. Under the circumstances, we can't be too careful." He paused, as if he had a lot to say but didn't want to risk saying it to an answering machine. "We will talk," he continued. "Soon. I'll be at the mall hoopla most of tomorrow, for Stephen's sake. If I can get cell reception there, I'll call you. Otherwise, I'll call the minute I'm out. I've got to see you, right away. We've got major issues to resolve."
A click, followed by the machine announcing, "Friday, six forty-five p.m.."
That was less than five minutes after she'd walked out the door to meet Greg. She'd just missed Connor's call.