The Toddler's Tale

With the motor still running, he leaped from the cab. God willing, he wasn’t about to lose Betsy!

“TWINKLE, TWINKLE, Little Star,” was a tune Chelsea hadn’t heard for years. “Do you like the song Mommy just sang to you? I’m right here, Betsy, honey, and I’m not going to go away. You’re being such a brave girl, Mommy’s going to sing you another song. Would you like to hear ‘Jumbo Elephant?’”

Huddled with Traci beneath the dry side of the tarp, Chelsea listened to the young woman’s tireless efforts to comfort her baby. As long as she sang, the little girl didn’t cry as much. The connection between the two of them was strong and touched Chelsea deeply. She’d never experienced that kind of bonding with her own mother. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to ward off more painful memories.

It seemed as if Max had been gone forever. Though the rain had stopped, it was cold enough that the tarp created much-needed warmth. Chelsea was grateful Max had provided them with this much protection against the elements, even if she had been furious with him at the time.

And hurt.

But she refused to think about the pain he’d inflicted. Right now both the mother and child were frightened. Hunkered down as they were directly above the place where they heard Betsy crying, Chelsea could observe Traci Beal at close range. What she saw disturbed her.

The extreme pallor of the young mother’s skin, stretched tautly over sharp cheekbones, and the heavy circles beneath her lusterless blue eyes convinced Chelsea she had been suffering long before the accident had happened. She looked exhausted and ill-nourished.

Chelsea shuddered to think of Traci’s innocent, helpless little child caught down there beneath all that old lumber. Some of the boards had creaked and settled more during the worst of the downpour, making her realize how unstable everything was. No wonder Max had gone for help before he attempted any kind of a rescue.

Wanting to be useful, Chelsea took off her jacket and placed it around Traci’s thin shoulders, hoping to infuse her with some of her own warmth and strength. If only the other woman would stop shivering.

At first Traci stiffened, then relaxed a little. Encouraged because she didn’t try to pull away, Chelsea kept an arm around her and rocked her back and forth, singing to Betsy herself. Anything she could think of.

Since Traci had exhausted every English nursery rhyme, perhaps something different would distract Betsy for a while. Chelsea started out with “Frère Jacques,” one of a dozen little French songs she’d learned in her youth at her boarding school in Switzerland.

“Those were pretty,” Traci whispered as Chelsea ended with “Sous le pont d’Avignon.” “You like that, don’t you, Betsy!” she called to her child. They couldn’t hear any baby noises. “Betsy?” she cried louder.

Chelsea clasped her a little tighter. “I’m sure she fell asleep for a few minutes.” I pray that’s all it means. Max, where are you?

“Traci? I have an idea. Why don’t you run home for a coat and get something to eat. I promise I’ll stay right here and keep singing to Betsy.”

“No! I’m not leaving my baby!” Terrified blue eyes stared into hers.

Chelsea heard—felt—Traci’s fear.

How foolish of her to suggest the other woman leave the site when it was obvious this child was her very life! But then Chelsea had to remember that not every child had Rita Maxwell for a mother.

“You don’t have to go anywhere. I’ll go up to the house and fix you some food and bring it back along with a jacket or a blanket. It’s probably going to rain some more.”

“No!” she cried again. To Chelsea’s surprise she felt the younger woman clutch her hands in a death grip. “Stay with me!”

“But I’ll only be gone a few minutes. You need help, Traci.”

“I’m f-fine.”

The more Traci protested, the more Chelsea knew the woman’s fear wasn’t only about her child. Something else was going on here.

Traci’s behavior reminded Chelsea a lot of herself back in Hollywood when she’d had to keep quiet about her fear of the men who lived with her mother. Especially Anthony.

Chelsea’s horrific experiences had given her uncanny instincts about people, and right now they were telling her Traci needed rescuing every bit as badly as her child.

Playing a long shot, she said, “Will your husband be getting home from work soon so you can take turns watching over Betsy?”

Traci’s features froze before she shook her head.

“A boyfriend then?”

“No. There’s just Betsy and me.”

The definitive response sounded like fighting words. But there was a tragic forlornness in her voice that reached a secret place in Chelsea’s heart.

“I’m here for you.” She felt compelled to assure Traci, then gave her another squeeze. “Max will get your baby out of here soon.”

“Max?” The younger woman sounded abnormally jittery. Almost paranoid.

“Mr. Jamison. The man who went to call for help. He used to be a police officer. Now he’s a very fine private investigator here in Austin, and a friend of mine,” Chelsea added, afraid to alarm this anxious young mother any more than necessary.

Not by any stretch of the imagination did Max consider Chelsea a friend or anything close to it, but Traci wasn’t to know that.

“He and I had just come from a case he was working on when we saw you.”

Traci’s frightened gaze found Chelsea’s. “Who are you?”

The tremulous question meant the other woman hadn’t recognized her from her television show. It proved her fright stemmed from something or someone else.

“I’m Chelsea Markum, a television journalist here in town.”

Like a wounded animal emerging from the forest who’d been blinded by headlights, the woman stared at Chelsea while her thin body shook helplessly.

Chelsea recognized the look of fear well enough. Throughout her life she’d seen its reflection in her own mirror often enough before she put on another face to meet the world.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Traci,” she vowed in a firm tone. “If you’ll give me a chance, I’ll prove to you I can be trusted.” Grasping the other woman’s hand, she said, “Shall we sing another song? I think I can hear Betsy. She must have wakened again.”

CHAPTER TWO

WHEN JANELLE SAW PETEY come out of one of the dozens of farmacias along the busy, noisy street, she reached across the seat and undid the car door’s electric lock.

“Get in quick!”

As he slid behind the wheel, Janelle glared at the small sack. “You were supposed to buy enough baby food and diapers to last us a couple of weeks! What happened?”

“We’re in a lousy border town full of scalpers, honey. Our funds are going to have to last for a long time. There’s no way I’m paying the prices they’re charging. I got us enough stuff until we come to another town farther inland to do our shopping.”

“We’d better find one soon!” she shouted, then turned her head to the back seat to see if she’d wakened Chase. Relieved he was such a sound sleeper, she darted Petey another glance. “By now Megan has the FBI on our tail. We step one foot on Texas soil and that’s the end for both of us.”

He revved the engine before moving into the mainstream of traffic. “Then you shouldn’t have brought the kid along.”

“I stole him for us, you stupid idiot! Megan wants him back. She’ll pay any price we name. What we need to do is hide out for a few weeks. That ought to up the ante. When she’s at her most vulnerable, that’s the time we’ll make contact.”

“Well, we sure as hell aren’t sleeping in this car another night. I figure if we drive a hundred miles south, we can find us a nice little hacienda to hole up with maid service and all the tequila we can drink.”

“First we’ve got to get more baby food and diapers!”