Stonebrook Cottage (7 page)

He gave her a blank stare. "What?"

"Language arts, English, writing—what were your grades?"

"A's."

"He got a D in math," Lillian said without looking up from her book.

"What did you get in language arts?" Kara asked her.

"A's."

Henry and Lillian are in grave danger. We all are.

The letter didn't make any sense. Allyson was the governor of Connecticut. If she thought her children were in danger down in Texas, why not call Texas authorities? Or send a couple of state troopers to fetch them? At least why not call Kara and ask her to intervene? Why take such a huge risk and have them sneak off to Austin on their own?

If she didn't want to involve law enforcement, Allyson was rich—she could hire a private bodyguard.

Nothing in Allyson's call had prepared her for this development. Her friend had sounded genuinely near panic.

Kara knew how to shoot and had taken a couple of self-defense classes, but that was it. She didn't have the training, the expertise, the weaponry or the mandate of the Texas Rangers, the Austin police. Allyson had to know the entire state of Texas—including Kara's brother—would be on alert for the two missing kids of a New England governor. How did she expect Kara to get them out of Texas on the sly? Allyson's actions defied logic.

For two middle-schoolers to engineer such an elaborate plan and think it made sense—that might not defy logic. The trauma of Big Mike's death, homesickness, isolation and a natural sense of drama could have gotten Henry and Lillian plotting, but there had to be more. Something else had to be going on.

What?

Suddenly hot and frustrated, Kara shot to her feet and turned the air-conditioning up a notch. She heard it hum, felt the rush of cooler air. It was almost ten o'clock. Eleven o'clock in New England. She recalled her brief conversation with Allyson. "I have a million people around right now, so I can't talk, but Kara— please, keep an eye out. I know you're a ways from the ranch, but maybe they'll turn up."

Was that a hint?

Not bloody likely, Kara thought. Henry and Lillian's story had to be bogus. It was the only reasonable conclusion, and it meant their mother and the people at the dude ranch were still worried sick about them. It meant the searches for them would continue. It meant all hell would be breaking loose in Texas and Connecticut until someone tracked them to their godmother's doorstep— or until Kara called her brother and told him what was going on.

Lillian yawned, her book looking heavy on her skinny thighs.

"Don't you two want to call your mother and tell her you arrived safely?" Kara asked.

Henry seemed to know she was trying to trip him up. "She told us not to call. You're supposed to take us to Stonebrook Cottage and wait for her there. Doesn't she say that in the letter?"

He'd know if he wrote it, wouldn't he? Kara tried to keep her skepticism from showing. Her godchildren had gone through a lot of trouble to get her to believe them—it was important to them. She needed to be very careful about how she unraveled their story.

Lillian lifted her thin shoulders. "We're just doing what Mom told us to do."

Kara returned to her armchair, sinking into its soft cushions. She was still hot, the cooler air making little difference, and she was tired and torn about how to proceed.

One thing she knew for certain. The kids' story had a million holes.

"Aunt Kara, you're a lawyer, right?"

She narrowed her eyes on her godson, wondering what was coming next. "Yes, why?"

"I was just making sure. If you're a lawyer, that means everything we tell you is confidential. You can't tell anyone. Right?"

Kara stared at him. "Henry, I'm a lawyer, but I'm not
your
lawyer."

"But that's why Mom sent us to you! She said we can trust you because you're our lawyer. Aunt Kara, you
can't
tell anyone! We
trusted
you!" He balled his hands into fists, his mouth set, his face screwed up with determination. "We wouldn't have said anything if we didn't think you were our lawyer."

"You mean you told me this whole story believing I was representing you? Henry, Lillian—I'm your godmother. I can't be your attorney! Well, I can be, but I'd need explicit permission from your mother, or a court would have to appoint a guardian ad litem for you and then you could hire me." Kara groaned, her head screaming now. "I'm
not
your lawyer, so get that out of your heads."

Henry was near panic. "But that's the only reason we told you—"

"Hold on—relax." Kara got back to her feet, wondering who was in control of this situation, her or the kids. "If you told me this whole tale believing I was acting as your attorney and it was privileged information, then that's what it is. Privileged information. I can't tell anyone."

"We're not fugitives." Lillian was blinking back tears, clearly exhausted. "We didn't break any laws."

Kara studied the two tired, frightened children. Something was wrong. Their story didn't add up, but they hadn't run off just because they were bored. Maybe Big Mike's death was too much for them—maybe they'd overreacted to innocent events and created some wild scenario involving secrets and grave danger and were so wrapped up in it that, at this point, they couldn't distinguish fiction from reality.

Regardless of their motives, however real their fear, they were here now, and they were her obligation. Her
sole
obligation. Nothing else mattered. Connecticut politics, bluebird theories, concerned authorities in two states, not even their mother. If Allyson wrote the letter, she had to be out of her mind. If she didn't write the letter, she would expect Kara to do her best to sort out the situation and get Henry and Lillian safely home as soon as possible.

"We could call your mom on her cell phone—"

"No!"
Henry yelled in panic, and Lillian almost cried. "We
can't
call her. She told us not to call. We're supposed to have you take us to Stonebrook Cottage and wait. Aunt Kara,
please,
you
have
to believe us!"

"All right, all right. Look, you two need baths and a good night's sleep. I only have one bedroom, but you can share my bed. I'll sleep out here on the couch." Kara hugged them, one arm around each one, as they got up from the couch. "Let's get some rest and come at this fresh in the morning."

Henry looked up at her, his thin face etched with concern. "Then what?"

"I don't know, but I'm on your side. Okay? Do not doubt that for one second." She thought a moment, the bare bones of a plan coming together. One way or another, these kids were going back to Connecticut. "Unless I have good reason to do otherwise—you tell me it's a forgery, or I find out by other means or get new information—I'm going to do what it says in your mother's letter and get you to Stonebrook Cottage." She thought of the trail they'd left and didn't imagine they had much time if they were going to keep this little adventure among themselves and out of the public eye. But she needed to think. Staying a step ahead of Jack and Sam now that she'd enlisted their help—and aroused their suspicions—wouldn't be easy. "Don't be surprised or scared if I have to wake you up in the middle of the night."

Lillian's eyes widened. "Why would you have to do that?"

"Her brother's a Texas Ranger." Henry whispered as if the place was bugged. "Everyone at the ranch probably got nervous when they couldn't find us and called the police or something."

His sister gasped. "Oh! Does
that
make us fugitives?"

"It doesn't matter. Aunt Kara will help us. Big Mike used to say she was the best defense lawyer he ever knew."

"Big Mike exaggerated," Kara said. "Go on, you two. Get cleaned up and get some sleep. I'm not worried about my brother."

Well, she was, but she was more worried about Sam Temple. He'd made it plain he hadn't liked the call from Zoe West. When he found out the missing Stockwell kids sneaked a ride to Austin—and he would—he'd be in full Texas Ranger, by-the-book law enforcement mode. Kara didn't object to him doing his job, but his interests weren't necessarily compatible with her sense of obligation to her godchildren. She needed to get them back to their mother as soon, and as quietly, as possible.

There was nothing by-the-book about this situation.

She led Henry and Lillian down a short hall to her bedroom and the bathroom. Lillian was the first in the tub, Henry next, and twenty minutes later, the lights were out and they were asleep.

Kara cleaned up their popcorn mess and flopped onto the couch, rereading the letter purportedly from Allyson.
You're the only one I can trust right now… don't call me…I have no other choice.

It had to be phony.

And Henry not mentioning attorney-client privilege until
after
he and Lillian had told Kara everything— what a ploy.

"Smart-ass. He knew what he was doing."

She ground her teeth and placed her palm on her lower abdomen, but her nausea had finally abated. It had to be seafood tacos, the heat, her still-palpable grief over Big Mike's sudden death—she wasn't pregnant. She tried to remember any slips she and Sam had made, but stopped herself short because it entailed replaying every move, every caress, and that was pure torture.

She thought of her towheaded godchildren asleep down the hall. They were so damn young. How could Allyson have sent them on such a crazy trip?

She didn't.

But something was wrong—very wrong. Henry and Lillian weren't bad kids. They wouldn't deliberately scare their mother and manipulate their godmother if they weren't frightened themselves. But of what?

Kara knew she had to think. She didn't have much time, and she had to get this one right. Too much was at stake.

Four

F
atigue clawed at Sam and had already had an adverse effect on his judgment—after all, he was in Austin, not home in bed—but he continued up Kara's walkway and onto her porch, anyway. A light was on. It was almost midnight, but he doubted he was getting her out of bed. Not that it mattered.

Henry and Lillian Stockwell had apparently conned their way to the Austin airport. Now, why could that be? It wasn't to fly. No flights had taken off with them on board, and their mother was up in Connecticut still sounding the alarm.

Just as Sam started to ring the bell, Kara pulled open the front door. "Sam—scare the hell out of me, why don't you?" She held up a pottery vase and smiled. "Consider yourself lucky. I was going to bonk you on the head. I don't normally get visitors at midnight."

"You don't own a gun?"

"No way. I hate guns." She hadn't changed out of the work clothes she'd worn down to San Antonio earlier in the evening. Sam noticed her crisp blouse was a little rumpled. She set her vase on a small hall table. "Do you have news? I haven't heard a word."

She made no move to invite him in. Everything he knew about body language—and Kara Galway—told him she was trying to keep this exchange simple and short and get rid of him as fast as possible. There could be innocuous reasons for that, sensible ones that had nothing to do with the Stockwell kids.

But he was playing this one his way. "Henry and Lillian conned the shuttle driver at the ranch to take them to the Austin airport."

Kara frowned. "Why on earth would they do something like that?"

Sam rested back on his heels, eyeing Kara. Something wasn't adding up, but she was an experienced attorney, accustomed to not tipping her hand to the other side. And somehow, he'd become the other side. He'd felt it the second she opened the door. "The Austin police are checking with the airport, taxis, buses. The kids told the shuttle driver they were meeting their mother. They claimed to see her and took off. He didn't realize anything was wrong until he got back to the ranch."

"Allyson knows? Someone called her?"

"The people at the ranch. Jack talked to her brother-in-law, Hatch Corrigan. He's some kind of adviser?"

Kara nodded, her dark eyes distant, unreadable. "He must be having fits. I can't imagine what's gotten into Henry and Lillian—" She sighed, breaking off. "What's your involvement? Austin isn't your jurisdiction."

"Wrong. All of Texas is my jurisdiction."

"That's not what I meant. I meant you're stationed in San Antonio—" She stopped herself, squaring her shoulders as she eyed him coolly. "Sam, is this an official visit?"

"Do you mean if you lie to me can I arrest you?" He took a step toward her, aware he was even more intense than usual. She drew back, as if a little shocked at his closeness, but he didn't ease off. "You opened your door loaded for bear. Why?"

"For God's sake, Sam, it's the middle of the night."

"You knew it wasn't an intruder. Your door has glass panels. You saw me."

She took a breath, the light from behind her casting shadows over her face. He saw her intensity, her determination, and knew she had no intention of easing off, either. "Okay. I didn't want you to think I open my door to near strangers unprotected."