Picture Perfect (21 page)

Regretfully, Lorrie eased herself out of his arms. “Yes, I'm upset. But I'm sick and tired of Davey taking a backseat. He should be in the front seat all the time. Especially with his medical problems and—” She broke off, shaking her head.

“Why don't we walk back to your campsite? I could use a cup of coffee.”

“Excuse me, sir.” A young officer was heading towards Sanders.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“Phone call for Dr. Ryan.” The cop held up Lorrie's cell phone. “You left it on the table outside your motor home. I thought you'd probably want someone to answer it,” he said, handing it to her.

“Who is it?” she asked.

“Mrs. Taylor. From Miami.”

Sanders watched as Lorrie seemed to shrink into herself. His voice was protective when he spoke. “Why don't you let me take the call? I can tell her you're trying to take a nap or . . .”

She smiled up at him. “Thanks, but that's the easy way. I'll talk to her.”

Sanders watched her walk away. “I don't envy her that conversation,” he said to Feeley, who had walked up behind him. “Sara Taylor is like a barracuda and Lorrie's a guppy in comparison.”

“I don't know about Mrs. Taylor,” Feeley said, “but I think you're wrong about Dr. Ryan. She'll handle the call.”

Sanders nodded morosely.

Lorrie walked slowly in the direction of the motor home. “Is that you, Sara?” she asked calmly. She refused to permit Sara to rattle her.

“Yes, this is Sara, Lorrie. How could you have allowed my son to wander off? I trusted you. Andrew and I just can't believe you allowed this to happen. It's unforgivable. Well, has he returned yet?”

“No, Sara, he hasn't come back to camp yet. The police are still searching for him. Mr. Sanders arrived a short while ago. I don't think he's ‘wandered off' as you put it. We all think it's more serious than a little boy lost in the woods. I'm not sure if you know it or not, but the police found a dead body near where Davey was playing. We're not sure if Davey saw or overheard something. We're doing everything we can. I'm sorry, Sara. I take full responsibility.” Lorrie kept her voice firm and controlled.

“That's absurd. What could Davey possibly have to do with a dead body? You're grasping at straws, Lorrie, to cover your own ineffectiveness. There won't be a next time, I assure you. Andrew and I both feel Davey's wandered off. Andrew admitted that he used to do the same thing when he was a child. Like father, like son. I want you to call me the minute Davey gets back, no matter what time of the day or night it is.” Her voice was frigid, bordering on open hostility. “I suppose if there's anything we can be grateful for in this . . . this outing you insisted on, it's that Davey's had his shot.”

Lorrie swallowed hard. Evidently Sara didn't know Davey had been missing since early morning. “Davey missed his shot. He wandered off shortly after breakfast. I thought you knew,” Lorrie said, gripping the phone tighter.

“Oh, for God's sake, Lorrie. What have you done?” Lorrie's control snapped. “Why aren't you here, Sara? Why didn't you come with Mr. Sanders? Your place is here where Davey—”

“How dare you tell me where my place is! I'm here seeing to something very important and I trusted my son to
you
. The only reason you want me there is so I can make everything right for you, the way I did when we were children. You never did anything right, Lorrie. I was always the one who had to pull your chestnuts out of the fire and get you out of one scrape after another. Not this time. You, and you alone, are responsible for my son. I don't want to hear another word from you until you call me and tell me Davey is safe. Do you understand me, Lorrie?”

Lorrie felt goose bumps on her arms, not from the cold but from Sara's icy voice.
Hang up
, her mind shrieked.
Don't pay attention to what Sara's saying
. Sara was changing everything around, just like she always had. It was always Sara who began the arguments, not her. Yet she, Lorrie, had always ended up paying the piper.
Ignore her. She's upset. Don't say another word
.

“Lorrie, are you there? Answer me.”

“I'm here, Sara. I was thinking about something.” It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to square her shoulders. “I always tried to like you because you were my sister, but I don't like you, Sara. I didn't like you when we were children, and I don't like you now that we're adults. I love Davey—you know that. I won't bore you with what I've gone through today. There's no way you could possibly understand. Just because you're Davey's biological parent doesn't mean you love him more—or even as much—as I do. If you did, you'd be here. I don't have anything else to say, so I'm going to hang up. If I hear anything I'll let you know.” Lorrie pressed the button to end the call. Damn Sara to hell.

“Are you all right?” Stuart Sanders moved around in front of Lorrie. He'd been right behind her while she was talking to her sister, not eavesdropping, just waiting. He'd wanted to be there for her if Sara Taylor said something to send her over the edge.

When Lorrie turned around, he saw that her eyes were glistening with tears. “I'm okay,” she said, her words belying her expression.

“Yeah, sure you are.” He put his arm around her shoulders and led her toward the motor home.

T
he phone was still in Sara's hand when Andrew admitted Roman DeLuca into the hotel suite. Her conversation with Lorrie had not been satisfying, and it rankled that Lorrie had hung up on her. But Sara schooled her face to impassivity before facing the prosecuting attorney. Everything about him annoyed her. He was as bogus as a three-dollar bill, and he capitalized on his movie-star good looks, right from his meticulously clipped gray hair to the tips of his manicured fingers. A snakeskin briefcase matched his shoes and belt, and his dove-gray suit and sparkling white shirt were custom-tailored to his slim body in an expensive salute to his vanity.

Andrew had scoffed when she'd told him that she thought the impeccable attorney had his eye on the governor's seat. But Sara knew she was right, and Roman DeLuca seemed to read her thoughts. It didn't upset him, and somehow his reaction added to Sara's dislike.

“Mrs. Taylor,” DeLuca said quietly. Sara nodded slightly in response. The phone receiver was still clutched in her hand. Was he wrong, or was there a glimmer of self-righteousness in her eyes? “Were you about to make a phone call, Mrs. Taylor?” he asked.

Sara glanced down at the phone. “Oh, no, as a matter of fact, I've just completed one. To my sister in New Jersey.” Damn, now why had she needed to explain?

DeLuca noticed the stiffening of her shoulders; he had been right about the self-righteous glimmer. Sara Taylor must have just finished berating her sister, blaming her for the boy's disappearance. He wished he had arrived just a moment earlier to hear Sara's end of the conversation for himself. He would have liked to see her in action.

“Andrew, we must talk.” DeLuca seated himself near the window, careful of the creases in his slacks. “Don't be alarmed. I want to congratulate you on your fine performance on the stand this afternoon. There's only one point that's annoying me.” He looked up at Andrew from beneath his dark, bushy brows. “It's the way you look for approval from your wife before you answer a question.” At Andrew's confused look, DeLuca continued. “Obviously you didn't realize that every time I asked you a question about what you'd witnessed, or your acquaintance with Jason Forbes, you looked to your wife before you answered. You almost never took your eyes off her. I even attempted to block your line of vision but, when I did, you started to get rattled and acted unsure of yourself and your statements. Rather than make you appear a fool, I allowed the visual contact between yourself and Mrs. Taylor.”

Andrew was stunned. He knew he hadn't been a star witness, but he hadn't thought he'd done badly. And Sara had told him how wonderfully he'd performed on the witness stand.

“If the judge had let the defense attorney begin his cross-examination, you'd be on the scrap heap by now, my friend. The judge adjourned as a favor to me when he saw how perturbed I was by your attention to your wife.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't realize . . .”

“Let's just hope the jury didn't notice. If they did, it may jeopardize our case.”

“I don't know what to say.”

“Say you won't do it tomorrow. Because if you do, I'll be forced to ask Mrs. Taylor to leave the courtroom. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

“Of course he understands, Mr. DeLuca. He's not a child,” Sara snapped. “It was your own inept questioning technique that rattled Andrew.”

Roman DeLuca's eyes narrowed to bits of chipped ice. “You should know, my dear, what makes your husband tick. I say he behaved like a sophomore, and so does the judge. Instead of giving me his undivided attention, he gave it to you. Why don't you ask him why?”

“I don't have to ask Andrew why. I was there. I saw what went on. You could have put Andrew on the stand earlier, but you didn't. Why? You deliberately waited till the end of the day before making your move. I want to know why, Mr. DeLuca,” Sara said coldly. “I want to know now.”

DeLuca smiled wryly. He didn't like Sara Taylor. Despite being sapling thin she had a ramrod strength. He possessed similar traits, but in Sara Taylor he detested them.

“Strategy, Mrs. Taylor. I don't exactly understand what you're accusing me of, and I don't believe you do either. I think you're just trying to turn the question I'm asking away from you.” He gave a sly smile that he knew would irritate her. “For the sake of argument, let's just put it down to your desire to protect your husband. I'm merely making the point that a witness who continually directs the jury's attention away from his testimony is of little or no use. I know that Mr. Taylor's looking to you is merely a loving habit, but it's one that could lose this case for the State, and I won't have it.” His tone was smooth, and he waited for the Taylors to digest what he had said before continuing. “Tomorrow is another day, Mr. Taylor . . . or didn't you say I should call you Andrew? Andrew, I'm here tonight to go over your testimony with you. I've studied your written deposition, and I think we'll work directly from that. If we can get it all together, you should be unwavering in the face of cross-examination.” DeLuca smiled.

He's like a snake, Sara thought. She disliked DeLuca intensely, almost hated him. “You're very confident for a man who was so angry a moment ago,” she remarked.

DeLuca's voice was urbane now, charming and suave. “Mrs. Taylor, what you mistook for anger was concern for Andrew, and yourself. As they would say back in New York, this is my turf and I know every blade of grass. I always win, Mrs. Taylor, remember that.”

Sara's eyes narrowed. It sounded like a threat, or was it a warning? How dare the man? How dare he!

Andrew intervened. “Sara, before we go over my testimony, why don't you show Mr. DeLuca the message that was delivered before dinner?”

Sara gathered her indignation close about her and walked stiffly over to the desk. She picked up the square of white paper and held it out, eyes cold and hard.

DeLuca scanned the message. “Well, who was it and what did they want?” he asked, listening closely for her answer.

“We didn't call the number. We waited to show it to you,” Sara said. God, how she detested this phony movie-star lawyer.

“Let me understand something, Mrs. Taylor. You say this message was delivered
before
dinner, which, I assume, was between six and seven. Am I right?” At Andrew's nod he continued. “It's nine forty-five now,” he said, teeth clenched. “Didn't it occur to either of you that this might be a message concerning your son who is missing, possibly kidnapped?” DeLuca glanced between the Taylors. Andrew looked horrified; Sara looked . . . Damn, nothing got to her. Nothing. He watched her carefully, almost admiring the way she took in his statement and managed to appear unruffled. Was it possible she didn't make the connection? He opened his mouth to drive it home. “Mrs. Taylor, I feel it is my duty to tell you there's a possibility that someone associated with the drug syndicate we're prosecuting may have kidnapped your son.” For one instant Sara appeared to be taken aback. But the heavy intake of breath belonged to Andrew, who sank down onto a chair. “You must believe I care about your son,” DeLuca added in his most sober tone.

Sara was the first to rally. “Your concern is most appreciated, Mr. DeLuca, but neither Andrew nor I owe you any explanations concerning our son or our private life. Experts, Mr. DeLuca, are handling matters back in New Jersey,” she said stiffly, not liking the look in Andrew's eyes. “Andrew is here to do a job, and I'm here because I choose to be here. Do we understand each other? There's nothing in this case to suggest kidnapping. Davey has merely wandered off.” Sara hadn't told Andrew about the corpse that had been discovered near where Davey had been playing. And she wasn't about to tell him now, not with DeLuca standing there ready to spring on her like a cat.

“But, of course, my dear. I understand everything you've done and said since our first meeting. I was merely thinking of you and your family. However, I must warn you—if the media gets hold of this . . . Why, I can't be responsible. They tend to start off with the term ‘unfit mother' and from there it's usually a quick slide to a ‘philandering, alcoholic husband. ' I'm not saying any of it's true, or that I condone it—I'm just pointing out the possibilities to you. If my information is correct, Mrs. Taylor, Mr. Sanders urged you to take the next plane home. I would second that. Your husband, believe it or not, is perfectly capable of speaking for himself.”

Sara was visibly shaken but she recovered quickly. She grabbed the message out of DeLuca's hand, picked up the phone and dialed for an outside line. Seconds later she replaced the phone and turned to face the two men. Her voice, when she spoke, was neutral. “It was a recording. Some insane person says he has our son and, if Andrew testifies, we'll never see Davey again. Obviously, this person is demented. Davey has just wandered off and is temporarily lost. If it was anything more serious, my sister would have told me. There
are
some people, Mr. DeLuca, who enjoy trying to make other people miserable. In spite of your seconding Mr. Sanders's suggestion, I'm standing by my decision to stay with Andrew. My son's escapade is in capable hands.”

“Is that what you call it? An escapade?” Roman DeLuca questioned, his tone rising with disbelief. What a cold bitch she was.

“In my opinion, Mr. DeLuca, this matter is closed. Andrew, what's your feeling?”

Andrew looked from his wife to the attorney. “I quite agree, Sara. Why don't we get down to business, Mr. DeLuca? It's after ten now, and we have an early day in court tomorrow.”

“Can I order something for either of you from room service?” Sara asked as if nothing had happened. Both men shook their heads. “Well, then, I think I'll leave you alone.” Regally, she left the sitting room to go into the bedroom.

It was twelve forty-five when Andrew tapped on the door. “Mr. DeLuca is leaving now, darling.”

“One moment, dear,” Sara said, retying the sash of her peach-colored dressing gown. She opened the door and studied her husband's appearance. “Oh, Andrew, you look terrible. Take a shower, a nice hot one. It'll do you a world of good. Stand under the spray for at least ten minutes. I can see how tense you are. Relax, darling, this is almost over. By this time tomorrow it will be nothing more than a bad memory. You go along now and I'll see Mr. DeLuca out. I've laid fresh pajamas out for you in the bathroom. I'll even pour us a nightcap.”

Sara moved past Andrew, her scent circling above and around her. Andrew sniffed, liking it. Was it new, or were his senses exceptionally keen tonight?

“Mr. DeLuca, I'll see you out,” Sara said formally.

The attorney dropped all pretense. Lowering his voice, he said curtly, “Mrs. Taylor, I want you on the morning plane back to New Jersey.”

“I won't do that. My place is here with my husband,” she answered tightly.

“Then let me put it to you another way. If you aren't on that morning plane, certain friends of mine will not be responsible for your son's safety. Now do we understand one another?”

Sara's world was turning upside down. She knew DeLuca would not repeat himself, nor would he ever admit to saying what he had just told her. “Certain friends” he called them; he obviously meant the syndicate against whom Andrew was testifying.

“Why?”

“It's not important for you to know why. Just be on that plane.”

If he was saying what she thought he was, Roman DeLuca knew Davey's whereabouts, which did make it a kidnapping. Yet Stuart Sanders had led her to believe that Davey had wandered off and was having difficulty finding his way back. Or had she just accepted the first thing he'd said? She couldn't remember.

Poor Andrew. If anything happened to Davey, Andrew would be devastated. She needed time to think.

“Can I have my office make your airline reservation, Mrs. Taylor?”

“No, you can't. I'm staying. You wouldn't dare have my son harmed. You're too respectable for that, Mr. DeLuca. And I understand you're thinking of running for governor of Florida.”

“It's crossed my mind,” DeLuca replied. “I meant what I said about your son. And remember something else—I always win.”

A chill washed over Sara. Her tone, however, was just as menacing as his. “So do I, Mr. DeLuca.”

“There's a first time for everything. You're out of your depth here. This is my turf, remember?” He smiled down at her. “I'll have a reservation made just in case you change your mind. I believe the flight leaves at ten after ten.”

“Why are you doing this?” Sara hissed.

“Because I don't want you in the courtroom. Good night, Mrs. Taylor.”

Sara Taylor stood for a full five minutes at the door after closing it on the attorney. She had caught a glimpse of Sanders's colleague in the hallway and, furious and frightened, had thought of calling him in to tell him about DeLuca's threat. But she knew he'd never believe her. Still, perhaps she should tell him about the phone message and the result of her call. Maybe he could trace it . . . But no, still no one would believe her. Who would seriously consider that the upstanding Roman DeLuca would subvert the very laws he had sworn to uphold? He hadn't achieved his current status by being careless. More compelling still was her own feeling that this was a personal confrontation between the attorney and herself. All she had to do to win was be smarter and faster than he was. As for going back to New Jersey, she would have to do that, too. She was going to have to buckle under to a hoodlum in a thousand-dollar suit!

“Sara? Where are you, darling?”

“Right here, dear. I was just turning off the lights. I'll be there in a moment.”

Settled in the bed beside Andrew, Sara searched for the right words. She had to be very careful what she said.