Rescue Team (23 page)

“She . . . Jess isn’t eating?”

“I suspect it. Baggy clothes, canceling on friends to avoid going to restaurants. She looked thinner today than I remembered.” He sighed. “Truth is, I don’t see that much of her outside of work. My schedule, hers . . . life. I was having a look at her cupboards and refrigerator when you called.”

Lauren tightened her fingers on the phone, torn between hating his intrusion on her sister’s privacy—loathing that he was even there at all—and woozy relief that at least someone was doing something. Guilt jabbed.
It should be me.

“It’s not that bad,” Eli continued in his maddeningly clinical tone, as if he were merely dictating a note on a wart removal. “Rice cakes, nut butter, ramen . . . some of those fruit and vegetable drinks, a frozen slab of that redfish I caught in the Gulf last spring.”

The fishing trip you postponed to go find her.

“And a couple pounds of vitamins,” he added. “So there is food. And overall she’s getting along at work, from what I can see.” She heard a sound like the closing of a cupboard door. “So . . . how are
you
, Lauren?”

She frowned. Apparently Eli hadn’t finished his inspection. “I’m fine.”

There was a short silence. “Not beating yourself up over Jessica’s meltdown last spring?”

Lauren’s stomach knotted. “Of course not.”

“Good.” Eli’s voice softened ever so slightly. “I thought maybe it was the reason you moved to Austin. Your sister’s problems . . . and what happened between you and me.”

Lauren hung up.

-  +  -

“No. You’re not interrupting.” Wes cradled the phone to his ear, sat back on the workbench. And returned his father’s knowing grin.

“Where are you?” Kate asked. “I hear a TV.”

“In the shop. Dad’s got the news on the big screen.” He laughed, glancing at the ancient portable TV and the duct-taped remote in his father’s hands. “Perks of a home-based business. That and Mom’s grilled Reuben sandwiches. Where are you?”

“Home. I was starting my Pilates workout. Before I review some staffing hours.”

There was something strange in her voice. “Is everything all right, Kate?”

“Sure—fine.”

Now he was certain something was wrong. “Word about your job?”

“Not really. . . . Hey, is it true there’s going to be a big search for Sunni Sprague in a few days?”

“For evidence,” he clarified, remembering his mother’s words:
“Human remains.”

“Here in Barton Springs?”

In the greenbelt where you jog . . .
“Yes. Though they haven’t released the exact site. So—”

“I’m not asking. I just wondered if you were going to take part.”

“I’ll be there.” He frowned. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

“It’s been a long day, that’s all.”

Wes wanted to jump in the truck and drive over there to hold her. “I have a few hours’ work here. We don’t usually work Saturdays, but there are some emergencies because of the storm. I could come by later if you want. Bring some burgers. And do my impression of Nancy Rae as a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader. Guaranteed prescription after a rugged day.”

Her short chuckle was something, at least. “Thank you for the thought, but I’m good. I’m going to do my workout, tackle that paperwork, then curl up on the couch with Roady.”

New low: he was jealous of a stub-tailed cat.

“We’ll plan on tomorrow evening, then. I’ll—” He stopped as his phone buzzed with a text message. “One second, Kate. I need to read an Amber Alert.” He scanned the details, noted the time. “Okay, got it.”

“Will you be called for a search?”

“Probably not. Unless they need volunteers to knock on doors. Law enforcement handles kidnappings. This one’s a baby.”

Kate’s distress was audible.

“Yeah. Two months old. A girl,” he added, sharing her sentiment, “named Harley.”

-  +  -

Judith shut off the shower and made a hasty reach for her robe. She’d been right; she hadn’t imagined the sound. Thumps, pounding. Shouts too. The TV was on, but it was too loud for even that.
What on earth?

She tightened her belt, glanced in the foggy mirror, and walked toward the living room. Scant steps into the hallway she realized someone was pounding on her front door. Then she heard the shout.

“Judith Doyle? Austin Police Department. Open the door, ma’am!”

“I
DON’T BELIEVE THIS.”
Kate sat cross-legged holding her phone, glued to the TV and reeling from the second shock in fifteen minutes. “The police actually suspect Judith—our Judith? Are you sure? The news isn’t saying anything about that. Though I think this is taped from a little earlier.”

“I don’t want to believe it either.” Lauren sounded as stunned as Kate felt. “But I heard it from my friend who’s married to a PD officer. And there’s only one Austin Grace volunteer named Judith that I know of. Apparently the police asked Trista if anyone had been showing unusual interest in the baby. She told them Judith took photos of Harley and bought her a gift.”

“Judith showed me the photos, but I can’t believe she’s capable of something like this. It doesn’t make any sense.” Kate shook her head; Judith had asked her about the mother and baby only
recently, expressed concern about not seeing them. The day she and Kate exchanged phone numbers and made plans to have coffee.
Judith, a kidnapper?

“I remember them both, mom and baby,” Lauren told her. “Trista left Harley alone in the ER waiting room once, and—never mind, it doesn’t matter. But I talked with her, offered to help her with some pamphlets. She’d picked up the new Baby Moses brochure by mistake, so I made sure she knew there was information on baby care, immunization safety, all that. The mother’s a kid herself.”

“I thought that same thing the time we treated Harley in the ER. Trista looked undone. It wasn’t easy to convince her it was safe to take the baby home, and—”

“Do you see that, just now?” Lauren interrupted. “That’s the grandfather they’re interviewing.”

“I see it. Still has a bandage on his arm.” Kate watched as the scowling man wedged in front of his daughter to talk to the reporter. He aimed a finger toward the camera lens. “I didn’t know Trista and the baby lived with him.”

Kate and Lauren were quiet for a while, listening as he recounted the story.

“No way,” Lauren said finally. “Judith wouldn’t crawl through a nursery window in broad daylight and snatch that baby out of her crib. But, dear Lord, someone did. Trista looks an inch from catatonic. I can’t imagine anything more horrible than having no idea where your child is.”

Except ten years of it . . . and knowing I’m to blame.

“I have this urge to call Judith and check on her. But . . .” Lauren sighed.

“What do you think is happening with her right now?” Kate
slipped the Pilates DVD back into its case. “Would the police just show up at her house?” She grimaced; they’d shown up here. Police, Barrett Lyon . . .

“I’d think so. Without warning. Search her home. Everything. I hate the thought of it, but they have to check every lead. Harley’s welfare depends on it. Maybe even her life. I don’t want another tragedy with a baby.”

“No.” Kate fought a wave of dizziness. “It can’t happen again.”

-  +  -

Wes hurled his twenty-four-hour pack into the truck, slid behind the wheel—and made himself stop for a moment. As angry as he was right now, he’d flip this rig over in a ditch before he got to Austin. He bit back a curse, taking a breath instead.
Please, Lord, let this end okay. Use me.

He reached for the ignition and then remembered Kate. She’d been distraught when he’d talked to her earlier; she needed to hear this newest update. He pulled out his cell, tapped her number.

“What is it?” Her voice was anxious. “You’ve heard something?”

“We haven’t found the baby,” he reported quickly. Anger whitened his knuckles on the steering wheel. “But don’t worry about Judith. She’s not involved. This isn’t a kidnapping.”

“Where’s Harley, then?”

“That mother—” Wes’s teeth ground together—“dumped her baby off somewhere. Abandoned her and drove away.”

“I don’t understand.”

I don’t either . . . all my life.
Wes shoved the anger down. “Apparently the mother’s had some kind of breakdown. Babbling about the Bible and milk shakes—not much that’s helpful or even coherent. She claims she drove around all day, then left the baby
‘somewhere.’ She can’t remember exactly where. Only that she left her in her car seat, with her favorite white blanket. They’re trying to compile a list of possible sites. I’m leaving now for the staging area. There’s not much time before it gets dark and cold.”

“I want to help,” Kate said in a rush. “Pick me up. Let me—”

“Can’t.” His heart tugged at her offer. “They aren’t using citizen searchers yet. I’m meeting Jenna. I’ll call you when I know something. Promise. Gotta go.”

Wes said a quick good-bye, set the truck’s engine to roaring, and took off. There was barely an hour of daylight left and then it would be flashlights and headlamps. He prayed Trista Forrester had dressed her child warmly or at least tucked that blanket around her and hadn’t left the baby at the mercy of the elements in some remote location, and . . .

No.
The memory rushed back, unfolding before Wes could stop it.

That awful night. Running. Pajamas, bare feet, and inky darkness. Chest heaving, throat raw, his heart threatening to explode. Gulping air, stumbling over tangled roots and ankle-deep in sucking mud. Straining to see—to find her. The sharp scent of the cedar whipping across his face, its laden boughs soaking his skin with icy water. Bringing cruel shivers that trapped his tongue between his teeth and brought the salty taste of blood. Running, trying to find her—lost. Every moment like no nightmare or bogeyman he’d ever dared to imagine.

But nothing compared to the terrifying confusion of being abandoned. Left without explanation in blackness and cold, silent except for the rush of the storm-swollen river somewhere in the distance. And his own sob-choked shouts, hoarse and foreign to his ears.

“Mommy! It’s dark. I’m scared. . . . It’s cold, Mommy. Please come back!”

Wes pressed his boot flat on the gas pedal. He’d find that baby.

-  +  -

“You’re pacing.” Lauren sighed through the phone. “I can feel it.”

“No, I . . .” Kate stopped the dizzying circuit she’d been making around her living room since the call from Wes. She was still in her workout clothes and her stomach had started to growl with hunger. But there was no way she could eat. “I can’t just wait here for Wes to call back.” She glanced toward the muted TV screen. “Or for something awful to show up on the news. Waiting isn’t something I do well. It’s—”

“Because we work in a hospital,” Lauren finished, voice full of the understanding only another nurse could offer. “We jump in when there’s a crisis. We act; we fix. We don’t wait. Waiting is like hobbling a racehorse. . . . Which is why I called Judith a few minutes ago.”

“You did?” Kate sank onto the arm of the couch. “How is she?”

“In shock, I think. I offered to meet her somewhere to talk, but her daughter was on her way up from San Antonio. She’s a lawyer. Though, thank heaven, it doesn’t sound like Judith needs one.”

“The police have completely backed off?”

“Yes. But the media managed to follow the police on the initial call. Judith said it looks like wild pigs were rooting in her dahlia bed. She sort of rambled from one subject to another. But mostly she sounded truly frightened for Harley. And Trista. Upset with herself, too.”

“Why?”

“For ‘crossing the line of professionalism.’ She said that at least three times.”

“Because she gave a gift to the baby.” Kate hated that this volunteer’s kindness had brought her so much trouble.

“And because she took those photos of Harley.” Lauren clucked her tongue. “The police still have Judith’s camera. She’d uploaded almost everything to her computer. Except for three photos of Harley. And some of the Barton Creek Greenbelt. She was planning to send them to Trista with a link to information on the trails. They spoke about taking the baby there in the spring.”

“I saw those photos too. They showed the greenbelt near the Zilker Park trailhead.” Kate stood, her heart starting to pound. “They talked about the park?”

“Yes. Because Judith took her daughter there when she was a baby. And Trista said she wanted to walk somewhere along the water.”

“Wait.” Kate pressed her hand to her chest, her mind whirling. “Didn’t you tell me that Trista had one of those Safe Haven brochures?”

“Yes. She didn’t understand what that meant. So I explained the story from—”

“The Bible.” The words left Kate’s lips with a gasp. “The Bible and milk shakes.”

“Huh?”

“Something Wes told me,” Kate said, dashing to where her running shoes sat beside the front door. “When Trista finally told the police she’d abandoned Harley, she was babbling incoherently about the Bible and milk shakes.” Kate slid a foot into her shoe. “I have no idea about the milk shakes. But unless I’ve forgotten everything I learned in Sunday school, Moses was left by his mother—”

“At the water’s edge,” Lauren finished. “Oh, dear Lord . . .”

“Call the police.” Kate reached for her other shoe. “Tell them what Judith said about the park.”

“You really think Trista left her baby there?”

Kate yanked her jacket from the coat peg. “I’m going to find out.”

“What? No way. It’s going to be dark soon. It’s flooded out there. It isn’t safe, and—”

“And I’m minutes from there. I’ll only go as far as the trailhead, take a quick look around; that’s all. I’ll be in and out before dark. The police can take over from there. I’m going, Lauren.”