The Toddler's Tale

On the other hand, if everything Chelsea had told him about Traci’s situation were true, then he shared her fear. The rescue attempt would be dangerous enough without the threat of an out-of-control husband arriving on the scene, capable of blowing everyone away. Domestic violence ending in murder happened every day somewhere in America. Chelsea hadn’t exaggerated about that.

But before he decided to go along with the rather devious yet brilliant scheme only a mind like Chelsea’s could have conceived, he needed verification from Traci that Chelsea hadn’t lied to him.

She grasped his arm. “I know you have no reason to trust me, but this is one time when I’m begging you to listen. Forget who I am and think of Traci’s pain. She’s so terrified, I didn’t think I would ever get her to open up to me. Now that she has, we can’t destroy her fragile faith in us, not when she has nothing to live for but her little girl.”

He took a deep breath. If he didn’t know better, he would swear she wanted to help and had no ulterior motive. But this wasn’t the time to try to analyze her psyche.

While he’d been talking to Chelsea, he hadn’t heard a peep come out of the child. If hypothermia were to set in now, the chances of the little girl surviving much longer were slim at best.

“If I do help her, I’m going to need a lot more information.”

He saw the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the becoming sleeveless dress before she let go of his arm, visible evidence of emotions held barely in check. Again he questioned what was at the bottom of this unprecedented display of concern.

Still reacting to the feel of her hands on his body, he walked to the other woman and got down on his haunches once more.

Traci cowered when he drew close to her. Her reaction was similar to the kind he’d encountered with other female victims in abusive relationships of one sort or another when he’d been on the police force.

Now that Traci knew he’d been told the truth, he could see she was frightened of his reaction. Chelsea hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said Betsy’s mother was fragile.

“Traci? You heard Chelsea discussing your situation with me. She’s told me enough that I want to help you.”

The younger woman lifted tear-filled eyes to him. “You won’t tell the police where I am and force me to go back to my husband?”

He swallowed with difficulty. “No. But first I need more background information. Is Traci Beal your real name?”

After a long hesitation she shook her head. “I made it up.”

“Then I need to know your legal name.”

“Why?”

“It’s important if I’m going to protect you.”

“I was Anne Morrison before my marriage.”

“All right. For the time being, we’ll continue to call you Traci.”

Chelsea gave her an encouraging smile, which Traci returned.

“Now, what’s your husband’s full name?”

“Nathan Stanhope. But he’s always gone by Nate.”

“Age?”

“Forty.”

“Tell me about his background, how he earns his living, that sort of thing.”

She kneaded her hands. “He was an only child. His mother died of cancer when he was twelve, and after his father was killed in a bus accident, he received an inheritance. As soon as the estate was settled, he bought a cabin outside Bellevue.

“We met while I was attending Washington State University. He was my political science teacher. After we married, he resigned from the faculty and said we were going to live at his cabin. At least that’s what I thought it was.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s built a secret bunker underneath it where he stores everything. When I questioned him, he got angry and told me it was just a basement. But since he’s always talking about a nuclear holocaust, I realized he’d made a bomb shelter.”

“Does he have other extended family or close friends who would be helping him look for you?”

She shook her head. “No. After we got married, I found out he didn’t like to associate with other people. He said they lied about everything, so we were going to have to live on our own and have nothing to do with them.”

Judging by the look of horror he saw reflected in Chelsea’s eyes, she felt as sickened by that revelation as he was.

“Give me a full description of him.”

“Nate’s six feet tall…lean, with dark blond hair that comes just down to below his ears. He has a short beard and mustache, and light blue eyes.”

“What about glasses?”

“He wears them for reading. They’re steel-rimmed.”

“Any distinctive birthmarks or tattoos?”

“No.”

“What about his car?”

“He drives an eighty-nine light green Chevy van.”

“When did he start keeping you a prisoner?”

“The day we got married.”

Max didn’t like the profile emerging on Traci’s husband.

“Where was your baby born?”

“At the cabin.”

“No doctor to help?”

“No. He said we were going to do everything the natural way.”

Little by little the color had left Chelsea’s face.

“How did you get away from him?”

“Last week some people in a truck camped near our cabin. It was late at night. Nate got so angry, he took his rifle and went outside to warn them off the property without remembering to lock the door. I’d been waiting for a chance like that. As soon as he was out of sight, I grabbed the baby from her crib and ran. When I got tired, I hid in some thick bushes.