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Before Sloan reached the nursery, Jake started crying. This time it was no halfhearted sob, but a full-blown wail. The cause was a dirty diaper. Changing it was a mindless task that allowed Sloan time to think and satisfy the need for contact with her son.
“Does that feel better, little guy?” Sloan crooned when she lifted him off the changing table and cradled him against her shoulder, a hand lightly supporting the back of his head. Lovingly, she nuzzled the top of it, breathing in the fresh, clean baby scent that clung to his skin. “You certainly smell better,” she murmured. Then fear ran its icy finger over her. “What are we going to do, Jake?”
Without an answer, Sloan wandered over to the window. Outside the rain had stopped, but water continued to drip from the eaves, falling past the glass panes. Off to the west the clouds had lightened in color as the sun worked to penetrate their thinning layers.
One of the security guards, in full rain gear and with a leashed German shepherd at his side, crossed the far side of the lawn. He was a visible reminder of the cordon of armed guards on the ranch. Ostensibly they were there to protect her, but Sloan realized they could also prevent her from leaving.
Alone, she might be able to slip past them. But she knew she’d never make it with the baby, and there was no way she’d leave without him. Sloan felt trapped.
Yet there had to be a way out, some excuse that wouldn’t arouse suspicion.
It was only when she went through her options that she realized how clever Max had been, eliminating virtually any need for her to leave the ranch. Someone else did the household shopping. Anything she and Jake could ever need had already been supplied. She had a lawyer who came to the house, and Sloan didn’t doubt that Max could arrange for doctor’s visits as well if any illness should arise. And there wasn’t a chance of faking one, not with a registered nurse in residence.
“Oh my God,” she gasped softly as she suddenly realized the true danger Bennett posed. On two or three occasions over the years, Sloan had seen him removing medicine from a locked drug cabinet. She could only guess at the myriad of sedatives, painkillers, and muscle relaxers that were kept on hand for Max’s use. But they could just as easily be given to her if she raised any objection to being kept there—or worse, confronted Max with what she knew.
Then Sloan remembered the document she had signed making Jake the beneficiary of her estate. Among the provisions was one that dealt with her death. If it occurred before Jake reached his majority, Sloan had designated Max Rutledge as Jake’s legal guardian.
Fear was a cold hand clutching at her throat. Sloan realized that she didn’t dare call Trey and warn him of Max’s plan. It would be just like Trey to come charging to her rescue, and the consequences of that could be disastrous—for all of them.
Her only chance was to find a legitimate reason to leave the ranch with Jake. It had to be something Max would easily accept, or he’d realize that she knew she and Jake were in actuality his prisoners. She had to come up with something that Max would regard as an innocent whim, easily indulged.
And she had to come up with it quickly. Sloan wasn’t sure how long she could maintain this charade of ignorance.
Jake’s head moved in her hand as his mouth searched to find his fist. Everything inside her softened at the sight of his baby-smooth skin and perfect little nose.
In the blink of an eye, the solution presented itself to her. The soft laugh that slipped from her lips was part relief and part jubilance.
“You and Mommy need our picture taken together, don’t we,” Sloan murmured. “An official portrait.”
Coming up with a logical purpose for leaving the ranch was only the first hurdle. Knowing Max, he would insist someone accompany them, probably more than one person, which presented a second obstacle. If she managed to elude them, she would have to find a safe place to stay until she could get word to Trey. And it had to be a place where Max wouldn’t expect her to go.
Confident that these were simple details that could be worked out, Sloan was quick to present her idea to Max when she joined him in the den before dinner. His response was exactly what she had anticipated.
“A picture of mother and child. What a wonderful idea,” he declared. “Tomorrow I’ll have my secretary contact a photographer and arrange to have him come here and take it.”
“Dear Uncle Max.” Sloan smiled in a show of amusement. “It’s obvious you don’t know much about photography.”
“Why?” The startled look he gave her had an element of doubt. Where photography was concerned, he accepted that she knew more than he did.
“Because I’m talking about a professional portrait, the kind that’s done in the controlled atmosphere of a studio. Not an impromptu setup with a few lights strategically placed.” Keeping the right note of lightness in her voice was difficult, but she knew she didn’t dare sound argumentative.
“I see.” He paused, running a subtly assessing glance over her. “I hate to say this, Sloan, but this isn’t a good time for you to be going anywhere, especially with the baby. Perhaps later—”
“But it has to be now.” Her objection was too forceful. Recognizing it, Sloan hurried to regroup. “If Mr. Haynes can’t get the hearing postponed, we’ll have to go to Montana next week. If anything happened there—” Seeing another opening, she broke off the sentence. “That’s what you’re worried about, isn’t it? That Trey has someone watching the ranch.”
“I would be surprised if he doesn’t have the Slash R under surveillance,” Max agreed.
“Couldn’t two of the guards go with me? I’d be safe then, wouldn’t I?”
“I would think so,” he began.
Sloan never gave him a chance to say more as she crossed to his chair, careful not to gush too much. “Thank you, Uncle Max.” She brushed his cheek with a kiss. “This means so much to me. I knew you’d find a way to make it happen.”
His smile was a little tight, providing the only outward indication of his displeasure. “I’ll have my secretary set something up for you with a photographer.”
Leaving the arrangements for the session in his hands was something Sloan couldn’t allow. It would be all too easy for him to manufacture reasons to postpone it.
“If y
