Calder Storm (Calder Saga 10)

“Anna Grunwald, the old battle-ax over in the child welfare office, called thirty or forty minutes ago and asked for a uniform to go along on a call she had to make. It sounded like a dog job, so dispatch sent the rookie Hobbs. I heard him radio in a couple minutes ago. He’s on his way to your ranch.”

“He didn’t say who was with him?” Max questioned, quietly furious that he hadn’t anticipated this move by Calder.

“No, and he didn’t say why he was going there, either. I know Clyde and his wife’s got some kids, but—”

“Right. You hear anything else, you let me know,” Max said and hung up, then pressed the intercom button. “Get Yancy Haynes on the line, and I want him now! Then alert the pilot that I want my helicopter ready to fly.”

He sat back in his chair and let his mind sort through the potential problems this could create while seeking the right counter-moves for them. As far as he was concerned, this setback was purely a temporary one.

The intercom buzzed. “Mr. Haynes is on line two, sir.”

Without acknowledging the message, he picked up the phone and punched the blinking line. “Yeah, Haynes, this is Rutledge—”

“How are you, Max? I phoned earlier to let you know that I spoke with Mrs. Calder, but I was told you—”

“Never mind that now,” he interrupted. “My helicopter is leaving to pick you up. I just learned that someone from child welfare is on the way to the ranch. More than likely, Calder is with her, and I don’t want him alone with Sloan for one minute. Do you understand? Not for one minute!”

“I’ll have to cancel—”

“I don’t give a damn what you have to do. Just get there.” Rutledge slammed the phone onto its cradle.

Alone at the expansive dining room table, Sloan dipped a spoon into her soup and carried it to her lips. As tasteful as it was, she found little enjoyment in it. She laid the spoon down and picked up her bread knife to butter the crusty roll on her side plate.

Each soft clink of her silverware seemed loud in the room’s crushing silence. Sloan realized how accustomed she had become to the ebb-and-flow conversation that marked mealtimes at The Homestead. Eating alone was another of those things she would have to relearn, just like sleeping alone.

She took a bite of the fresh roll and chewed, then picked up the spoon and tried the soup again. Restraining a sigh, she dabbed at the corners of her mouth with the napkin, then spread it over her lap again.

The ever observant Vargas moved from his post near the doorway. “If the soup is not to your liking, senora, I will be happy to bring you something else.”

“It’s fine,” she assured him and reclaimed the soupspoon.

From another room came the muted br-r-ring of the telephone. It was the third time in the last five minutes, which was a curiosity in itself, considering the phone rarely rang at all until Max came home. A hushed voice answered it. Sloan couldn’t make out what was said, but she recognized Harold Bennett’s voice.

As at previous times, the conversation was short. But at the end of it, Sloan heard the soft squeak of rubber-soled shoes approaching the formal dining room. She looked up as the male nurse appeared in the archway.

“Excuse me, but I thought I should inform you that we are about to have visitors.”

The note of caution in his voice produced a frisson of alarm. “Who?” Sloan asked.

“A representative from the local child protection office, accompanied by a sheriff’s deputy and two other men. One of whom is your husband.”

“Trey is here?” The spoon clattered from her fingers as she stood up, mindless of the napkin that fluttered to the floor near her feet. “He’s here to take my son, isn’t he?”

Bennett raised a calming hand. “That isn’t the purpose at all. This seems to be an official visit to verify your son’s location as well as his safety and well-being. Nothing more. Your attorney, Mr. Haynes, has been informed of this, and he’s already en route. He should be here momentarily. So you have nothing to be worried about.”

The initial wave of panic receded as Sloan took note of how ready Bennett had been with his explanation. “The phone calls that came—this is what they were about, isn’t it?” she guessed.

“Security has been stalling them at the gate to give your attorney time to arrive. Unfortunately, all their delaying tactics have been exhausted and they had to let them through.”

The melodic chime of the doorbell served to confirm his statement. Her heart jumped at the sound, tension skittering along her nerves.

“That’s them.” Sloan took a step toward the living room.

Bennett stopped her. “Vargas will answer the door. We need to gain every second we can to let your attorney get here. It’s a fine line to walk—stalling without testing their patience too much.”

“I understand.” She glanced over her shoulder, surprised to find the soft-footed servant, Vargas, had already left the room.

“Everything will be fine,” Bennett assured her. “Mr. Rutledge has made sure that everything will be handled with no problems.”