The Toddler's Tale. Rebecca Winters
been there, remember?”
Traci slowly nodded. “You promise he won’t turn me in to the authorities?”
“I can do better than that. I’ll make certain he keeps everyone away from you.” Please don’t let me down, Max.
The little girl began crying again, and the sound of her baby’s distress must have gotten to Traci. “All right,” she whispered.
WITH HOT COFFEE and sandwiches in hand, Max climbed out of the truck, which he’d parked in front of the excavation site.
The storm had passed. He was thankful for that blessing, at least. But with night fast approaching, darkness, not rain, would be their enemy. He’d been promised all the help possible, including an air-med helicopter when the moment came to transport the child to a hospital. Unfortunately, not enough time had passed for the police and paramedics to arrive yet.
As he drew closer to the women huddled beneath the tarp, he could hear singing. The words sounded foreign. So far he hadn’t heard any cries coming from the little girl. The pit in his gut enlarged.
He picked up his pace, then came to a standstill when he saw something he would never forget. Chelsea Markum sitting on the ground, holding a tearful young mother in her arms while she sang to the child in a lovely, musical voice.
She’d given up her jacket to keep the other woman warm. Most amazing of all was the fervent expression on Chelsea’s face. With her eyes closed, she reminded him of a woman at prayer, reflecting an inner beauty he hadn’t expected.
Astonished by the sight, he hunkered down next to them. Chelsea must have felt his leg brush against the edge of the tarp because she opened her eyes. The second her singing stopped, the other woman raised her head.
“Help is on the way,” he explained. “We’ll have your little girl out of here as soon as we can. I brought something to sustain you both while you wait.”
He noticed the way Chelsea took one of the coffee cups and put it in the other woman’s hands, as if the mother were a little child who couldn’t do it by herself.
Max handed Chelsea a sandwich.
“It’s chicken salad,” she said, peeling off the wrapper and passing it to the woman. “It looks good. Please, eat something while I talk to Max for a minute. All right?”
The other woman eyed her hesitantly before nodding.
Chelsea darted an anxious glance in his direction. If he read her message correctly, she wanted a private conversation with him. Intrigued by her solicitous behavior with the other woman, he helped her arrange the tarp over the mother’s head and shoulders.
When they had walked a few feet away he whispered, “I can’t hear Betsy.”
“She cries on and off. It’s killing me to think of that precious infant alone down there, so I can only imagine how Traci must be feeling.” The wobble in Chelsea’s voice sounded real. It appeared she had blood in her veins, after all. Who would have believed it?
“The thing is, I can’t tell if her daughter keeps falling asleep then waking up, or if she’s been drifting in and out of consciousness. But there’s another problem just as serious.” He heard a slight hesitation. “You have to help me with it before the search and rescue people get here. I—I promised Traci.”
His brows knit in a frown. “What other problem? What are you talking about?”
“After the history between us, I realize you pretty well despise me. I can handle that. But I couldn’t bear it if you didn’t back me up in this one thing.”
“Go on.”
She shivered from the lack of warmth in his tone. “I— I need a favor from you. For Traci’s sake, do you think we could put our differences aside long enough to discuss it like two civilized adults?”
His gaze roved over her features. “It depends.”
“Please, Max. This isn’t easy for me.”
Try as he might, he couldn’t remain immune to the throb of emotion punctuating her speech. She might be playacting, but if that was the case, she was doing a damn good job of it.
“Traci’s terrified about something.”
“I am, too,” he admitted. “Betsy’s in a lot of trouble.”
“So is Traci.”
“All right. Tell me what’s going on.”
Finally she felt she had his attention.
“For one thing, I don’t believe Traci is her real name. Max, she doesn’t live next door. The truth is, she’s from Bellevue, Washington, and has been running away from a life-and-death situation.” Without wasting words, Chelsea told him as many facts as she could.
He doubted she was aware that her hands had gripped his arm with surprising strength. Imploring green eyes lifted to his.
“We have to hide her before the media people hear about this over the police band and come to video the rescue. If her real name is mentioned, or pictures are shown over the news, her husband will know exactly where to find her.
“I was thinking if you could break into that vacant house, we could hide her inside and pretend she lives there. As soon as you get access to a phone, you could contact the realtor and tell them you need the place for police business. I’ll pay the rent for the use of the house.”
Max was stunned.
It wasn’t the wild story as much as the fact that it was Chelsea Markum, of all people, begging him to help her hide Traci from the television crew she worked with. Hell. She was even willing to use her own money to cover the expense of breaking into the vacated premises next door.
None of it added up. The star of “Tattle Today TV” he’d locked horns with for over a year had to be pulling something.
THE LONGER she was forced to wait for a response, the greater Chelsea’s fear grew that Max wasn’t going to cooperate. If he refused to help, then she would have to protect Traci herself.
“Forget I asked,” she murmured in a dull voice, and started to turn away, but he grasped her by the shoulders and forced her to look at him.
“Tell me about the rest of your plan.”
Relieved that he was still willing to talk about it, she let out the breath she’d been holding.
“You could give the police phony names and ages. Tell everyone she’s a widow who’s so upset over her daughter’s predicament, she’s too overcome with grief to be interviewed. I’ll do my part by explaining that the mother asked me to stay by the little girl and try to keep up her spirits.”
“What else?” He bit out the question. “I might as well hear the rest of it.”
“Well, there are several things. You need to ask a couple of police officers you trust to supply food and bedding and sneak it into the house. They’ll have to guard the entrances so that no reporters will be able to get inside to film her. I’ll pay for all the expenses and any hospital bills.”
Lord.
Max released her arms to rake a hand through his hair while he digested the unexpected twists and turns of a situation Chelsea Markum normally relished exploiting.
It was incredible enough that she would put her own selfish interests aside in an effort to protect Traci from her deranged husband.
But for Chelsea to inveigle Max’s help in deliberately shielding the terrified young mother from the press, when Chelsea was probably its most ardent, relentless proponent, was so far out of character as to be ludicrous.
In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that if she was willing to pay money from her own bank account to accomplish her objective, she had to have a hidden agenda somewhere.