Childfinders Inc - Hero For Hire Part 17

Veronica nodded as he got in on the driver's side. "I wasn't going to, but she's like a second mother to me." Or a first one, she added silently. She hardly remembered her parents. There was a vague feeling of well-being when she thought of either of them, but she had to concentrate hard just to remember their faces in her mind's eye. "And after meeting her, you can't still think she had anything to do with this," she added deliberately, watching his expression for some sort of indication of his feelings.

"No," he agreed. The housekeeper had impressed him with the depth of her feelings about Casey. "Unless she's one h.e.l.l of an actress, she seemed genuinely upset about this." One suspect down, a hundred to go, he thought cynically. "I still intend to talk to your friend, Anne."

She nodded. "You're in charge."

He couldn't help wondering if she said that often to people. From what he'd read last night, he had his doubts that she gave up control easily. Which was why this had to be doubly frustrating for her.

Veronica looked down at the light gray briefcase she'd brought with her. Very gently she caressed it with her fingers. It had been a gift from Robert when she'd begun her fund-raising career. All it had ever held until now was a notebook and a few pens scattered about within its interior.

"Is this big enough?" It seemed like a silly thing to admit, given her background and her chosen career, but she'd never seen 750 thousand dollars in cash before.

He glanced at the case. "It's big enough," he a.s.sured her. "Unless you're planning on giving the money to him all in ones and fives."

She knew he was attempting to lighten the tension, but it continued to hang about

her like a heavy shroud.

Afraid, half numb, half angry, Veronica stared straight ahead. "I can't believe this is really happening," she said quietly, her voice scarcely above a whisper. "I expected to get up this morning and find Casey bouncing up and down on my bed."

A vague image of Megan and him doing the same on a big double bed winked in and out of his brain. An almost faded memory. "Does he do that often?

She smiled to herself, remembering last week.

They'd had cereal in front of the television set, dressed in their pajamas.

"Sat.u.r.day mornings. He likes me to watch cartoons with him." She pressed her lips together, the memory too much for her. She could feel the tears beginning to build again. She began to root through her purse for a handkerchief before she embarra.s.sed herself. "Oh, G.o.d, I promised myself I wouldn't start crying again. I just can't seem to stop doing this." Unable to find a handkerchief or a tissue, Veronica wiped the corner of her eye with her fingers.

"I've got tissues in the glove compartment," he told her. Leaning toward her, one hand on the wheel, he reached over to the glove compartment and opened it, then took out a box.

She pulled a tissue from the box he offered her. Veronica sniffled, wiping away the remaining tears that were sliding down her cheeks. "You seem to think of everything."

He pushed the box back into the glove compartment, closing the door again.

"Always be prepared," he replied, like a good Boy Scout. In reality, he'd never been a Boy Scout, never belonged to any organization that required socializing.

That was part of the reason behind his quitting the force. He wasn't any good at the politics behind the job. He'd always done things his way, trusting only himself. That had rubbed his captain the wrong way. Chad had left the force rather than defend his actions. Defending yourself, explaining yourself, made you vulnerable, decreased your strength. So he was strong, silent. And alone.

"Are you?" she asked. He looked at her quizzically. "Always prepared?" she clarified.

He shrugged. "I try to be."

She blew out a breath, looking down at the tissue. She'd shredded a hole in its center. "Tell me, Chad, how do you prepare for something like this?"

The answer was frank. "You don't, not really. The' best you can hope for is to roll with the punches when they come and manage to wind up on your feet."

He glanced in her direction. The breeze from the open window was playing with the ends of her hair. The way, he realized suddenly, he wanted to. His hands tightened ever so slightly on the wheel, as if that could somehow make him contain his thoughts and the feelings that insisted on infiltrating him.

"You left it down." Veronica looked at him, confusion in her eyes. "Your hair,"

he said. "You left it down."

Her hand went to her hair as if this was the first she'd heard of it. She looked almost surprised to find the soft waves touching her shoulders.

"I guess I did." The smile was rueful. "I couldn't think straight," she confessed.

"It looks nice like that." He wasn't accustomed to giving compliments. They didn't feel right on his tongue, yet she deserved this small thing he could do for her. "You should leave it down more often."

The surprise on her face blossomed into pleasure. "A fashion comment from a private investigator?"

For a second the pain in her eyes receded slightly. He felt a pleasant sense of accomplishment. "I'm trained to observe," he reminded her.

The compliment, tendered so simply, brought a comfort with it she couldn't quite put into words. She leaned back in the seat, watching the scenery pa.s.s. Trying not to think.

"It's too much trouble in the morning," she told him, seeking refuge in small talk. "I was considering getting it cut."

He kept his eyes on the road. "Don't."

The single word was almost a command. She looked at him.

He'd had a crush on a little girl when he was in the first grade. He'd fallen in love with her waist-length golden hair. He supposed that long hair somehow meant femininity to him. "A woman should always have long hair."

She felt herself smiling as she looked at him. "That sounds like something from the fifties." It didn't sound as if it should be coming from him.

He saw the bank up ahead and merged to the right. "Some things remain constant."

Very few things, she thought. Veronica slid her hand over her hair, looking at the building up ahead. "Something to think about," she murmured more to herself than to him.

Chapter 8.

Jacob Browne's smile froze a little around the edges as Chad watched shock set in on the bank manager's face. The phrase "always a pleasure to serve you" was still lingering in the air when the granddaughter of Chester Lancaster and the branch office's largest account holder made her request.

Browne's eyes grew owlish. "How much?" he inquired in a disbelieving voice.

They were sitting in his office. The s.p.a.cious room faced west, and the morning sun had yet to do more than hint at its presence here. The artificial fluorescent lights overhead seemed to cast a pall over the room as Browne continued to stare at Veronica.

Maybe she should have called ahead, Veronica thought. But then there might have been questions she didn't want to deal with over the telephone. Veronica drew herself up in her chair, her hands folded over her purse. The cell phone lay silent, its telltale bulge just beneath her fingertips.

"Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars," she repeated.

Browne's eyes darted from Veronica to Chad and then back again. Suddenly his face brightened. "This is a joke, right?"

"It's no joke, Mr. Browne. I need the money as soon as possible." She lowered her eyes to the briefcase she placed on his desk.

Browne rose to his feet. "But, my dear lady, that much money at one time... There are penalties, procedures-"

Chad cut the man short. "There is also a small boy whose life depends on it."

Chad didn't look in Veronica's direction. He knew she wasn't pleased that he'd said anything about Casey to the banker, but the gravity of the situation meant that they had to cut through any sort of banking filibuster Browne was about to launch.

The shock on Browne's face only intensified. "Is this true, Ms. Lancaster?"