LITMIR.BIZ

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herself. “She doesn’t deserve the kind of thoughts you’re having.”

      “I’m not having any thoughts, Judge.” Callie used his title deliberately, to drive home the point that she was being professional, nothing more, nothing less. “I’m doing my job. The more information I have, the better I can do it.”

      “Well, unless there’s some deep, dark secret I didn’t know about, my daughter’s kidnapping,” the term stung his tongue but he couldn’t continue to pretend that it was anything else, “doesn’t have anything to do with Delia beyond the obvious. That she died trying to protect my daughter.”

      Callie knew that was what he wanted to think, but she didn’t have the luxury of allowing him to believe that without questioning the woman’s integrity further. “Miss Culhane wouldn’t have tried to take Rachel on her own, would she?”

      He glared at her. “The woman is dead, Callie.”

      This was the first time he’d used her name, and she paused for a long moment to gather her thoughts.

      Callie took a breath. “Yes, but maybe she orchestrated the kidnapping in order to get money—or revenge—” She still couldn’t rule that out. Perhaps the woman felt she had received some slight or had some grievance against him. Even if it was imaginary, it still needed to be checked out. “And it backfired.” There was no honor among thieves, there were only thieves. “Her partner decided that he couldn’t share the money with her.”

      Brent was adamant as he shook his head. “She’d been with me since Rachel was a year old. Look, Callie, it’s my job to read people. Delia Culhane didn’t have a mean or mercenary bone in her body. She was entirely selfless.”

      Callie blew out a breath as she took in his information. Whether or not he was right still had to be determined, but for the moment she could pretend to believe him.

      “All right, for the time being let’s pretend that she was pure as the driven snow. Still, I need to look through her things, just as a formality.” He wasn’t fooled, she thought. “Would you mind showing me her room?”

      With conscious effort he strove to take the edge off his temper. He knew she was just doing her job. “No, I wouldn’t mind, but you’re going entirely in the wrong direction.” He looked at her. “Just as you will with your next tack.”

      God, but he was tall, she thought. And decidedly masculine. Even more than he’d been that night they danced. He seemed to draw the very air out of the room. “My next tack?”

      This time he allowed himself the slightest hint of a smile. Because the very thought was hopelessly ludicrous. “Where you rule me out as a suspect.”

      He was going to make it easy for her. She was grateful for that. “Personally I don’t see you as a suspect.”

      He wondered if she was patronizing him, then decided that she wasn’t. Still he wanted his question answered. “And you’re basing this on what? On our dancing together once?”

      She hadn’t expected him to oppose her on this, much less bring up that incident. She was equally surprised that he even remembered dancing with her. But she remembered.

      Funny how some things just stuck in your mind. She’d thought back to that evening, that dance, more than once. She couldn’t even say why, because she had never allowed her thoughts free rein when it came to that memory. He’d been married and she wasn’t the type to be with a married man in any way that wasn’t completely public.

      “On your reputation,” she replied tersely. “And on the fact that you know my father. Dad’s a damn good judge of character.” She smiled at him. “And he always liked you.”

      He went at it like the lawyer he’d once been. “Hearsay.”

      “All right, then, on my gut instinct.”

      Again Brent overruled her. “Not admissible in court.”

      She looked at him. “You want me to question you like a suspect?”

      He knew this had to be done and he wanted it over with as fast as possible. “I want you to rule me out as a suspect. Officially.”

      “All right, then.” She took a deep breath and began asking him questions as they walked to the rear of the main floor and his late housekeeper’s room.

      Chapter 4

      “I want my daddy. Where’s my daddy?”

      Rachel wiggled against the restraints that had been added to her seatbelt. It was like the time Tommy Edwards threw ropes around her when he was playing Spider-Man. He told her they were webs, but they weren’t.

      She could hardly move.

      Outside the rear passenger window, scenery she’d never seen before whizzed by. She screwed her eyes shut tight for a second, determined not to cry. Crying was for babies, and she wasn’t a baby. She was a big girl. Delia always told her so.

      The thought of her nanny, lying on the road where cars could hit her if she didn’t get up brought a tight, scratchy feeling to her throat, making it feel as if it was going to close up.

      Rachel struggled against that, too. She had to be brave. Brave until her daddy came for her. She knew he would.

      She wanted to have his arms around her now, making her feel safe. Why wasn’t he coming?

      Where was he?

      Sucking in air, she looked through the closed window and screamed “Dad-dee!” as loud as she could. But there was no one to hear her anymore. There were no people here. Just her and this man who had grabbed her, pulling her into his funny-looking car.

      Delia had tried to grab her back, screaming for help, but he’d pushed her away. And then, when she’d tried to pull open the door, he’d made the car spin around. There was a big “Whap” and she heard Delia scream once. When she’d struggled to look out the window, Delia was lying down. She’d tried to call to her, but the man had pulled her back, holding her by the arm and squeezing. Hard. Squeezing until she promised not to cry out.

      She’d promised, but he’d held on to her anyway, driving with just one hand. He held her like that until they were someplace she’d never seen before. Then he’d tied her up and put her in the back seat.

      She wanted her daddy.

      He looked at her in his rearview mirror. She was a spunky little kid.

      Like his Alice was.

      The thought of his daughter brought a fresh salvo of pain to the middle of his chest, stoking the red-hot fire in his belly. He hadn’t seen Alice in five years, didn’t even have any idea where she was now. That bitch had taken her away, the one who had promised to stick by him. For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. Just not during a jail sentence.

      He pressed his lips together, forcing his mind forward. He’d lost Alice. For now. But he’d found another. This was going to be his Alice now. The goddamned judge owed him that.

      Hell, Montgomery owed him a lot more, but this would do. For starters.

      “You can call for your daddy all you want,” he told the little girl mildly. He took care to keep his voice low, nonthreatening. He didn’t want to scare her. He wanted her happy. And to love him. Just like Alice had. “But it won’t do you any good. He gave you to me. Said you were mine now.”

      Something funny was happening in her tummy. It felt like ants running up and down inside. Red-hot ants. She’d felt like this when she’d watched that movie on TV, the one about witches. Until Delia had turned it off.

      Rachel began breathing hard, frightened. Telling herself that her daddy wouldn’t do that to her. He’d never give her away. He loved her.

      But he hadn’t kissed her goodbye today. He’d left without even talking to her.

      She

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