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ou don’t mind, Uncle Max, I’d rather call myself. I’m sure your secretary is very competent, but I’d want to verify the kind of film and equipment he uses, his developing process—things that wouldn’t mean anything to your secretary.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Max conceded grimly. “Before you set a firm time, check with me in case there are any difficulties getting an extra security detachment to accompany you.”
On that point Sloan was forced to agree. “Of course.”
By noon the following day, she had settled on the studio that best suited her needs. Setting a photo shoot for the next morning required a good bit of cajoling, but she succeeded in the end. However, she didn’t pass the information on to Max until she had chatted with the head of ranch security.
Satisfied that she had all bases covered to this point, Sloan placed the call to Max. After providing him with the studio’s address and phone number, she told him, “As luck would have it, he had a cancellation for tomorrow at ten. And I spoke to the man in charge of security—Grazanski, I think his name is. I mentioned what I wanted to do, and he said it would be no problem at all. I guess the company has extra guards available who can accompany me to the photo session. Isn’t that good news? I know you were concerned about it. Frankly, so was I.”
She held her breath, half afraid Max would come up with some objection. Instead he asked, “How long will this take?”
“He had two hours blocked off for the client who cancelled, although I don’t think it should take much over an hour. I imagine it depends how cooperative Jake is.”
“In that case, I’ll confirm the arrangements with security so you can have that portrait taken with your son. I have a meeting to attend, so we’ll talk this evening.”
If anything, her tension increased when she hung up. Everything was going almost too smoothly. And that scared her. If anything went wrong this time, Sloan doubted that she would ever have another chance.
“Dressed to kill” was the phrase that kept running through her mind when Sloan studied her reflection in the mirror the next morning. Her hair was coiled in a sophisticated style atop her head, matching the tone set by a double strand of pearls around her neck. Her face felt stiff under all the makeup she wore, but the overall effect of someone smart and chic was exactly the look she had sought to achieve.
With her stomach in knots, Sloan turned from the mirror and crossed to the crib where Jake lay, dressed in his best as well. His expression was a study of concentration as he tugged at an edge of the blanket. Tucking the blanket back around him, she slid a hand beneath him and lifted him out of the crib.
“What do you think, Jake? Will we be able to do this?” Sloan said in a soft murmur. A whisper of movement warned her that she wasn’t alone in the nursery. A little louder, she added, “We’re going to have our picture taken, aren’t we.” Turning, she pretended to just notice Harold Bennett standing there. “Is the car here?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Good.” She tipped the baby a little more upright to provide the nurse with a better view of him. “Doesn’t he look precious?”
“Indeed he does,” Bennett agreed.
“I thought so, too. Just to be safe, I packed his little white suit in case he spits up. She nodded to the bulging bag atop the dresser. “Would you carry that to the car for me? But I warn you, with all his things, plus my makeup and everything else, it weighs more than Jake does.”
Part of that “everything else” included a change of shoes and clothes, as well as extra bottles of formula and diapers for Jake. But all of that was hidden beneath the expected items.
Bennett made no comment on its heaviness when he lifted it by its strap and followed her out of the nursery. With each step, her tension rose another notch.
The ride into the city was going to be a long and nerve-wracking one. But at the end of it was the moment of truth, and Sloan needed to ready herself for it on the drive.
Chapter Twenty-Three
After arriving at her destination, Sloan waited while the two security guards made a sweep of the studio to satisfy themselves that no one other than the photographer and his assistants was present. Thankfully, they raised no objections when Sloan instructed them to wait for her in the small lobby area.
The hardest part was pretending to be interested when the photographer suggested various poses that could be used. Sloan chose one that would require the most setup time, then asked to be shown to the changing room so she could freshen herself after the drive.
Along the way, she made sure that the photographer pointed out the studio’s rear exit, claiming a phobia of being trapped in a burning building. She had no idea if the photographer believed her, but she didn’t particularly care.
In the changing room, Jake fussed a little when she first laid him on the oversized counter, but he soon quieted. Hurriedly, Sloan emptied the overstuffed bag of her makeup, hairbrush and spray, then dug underneath the layers to pull out the change of clothes and shoes. She piled all of it on the counter near Jake.
Wasting no time, she scrubbed off the makeup and brushed out her hair, then carelessly plaited it in two scraggly braids. Changing into a pair of jeans, a loose cotton top and sneakers came next. After that she had only to wrap Jake in a different-colored receiving blanket and stuff her purse into the considerably lightened bag, and she was all set.
Shaking inside, she gathered Jake into her arms, slung the bag over her shoulder, and opened the door a crack to peer out. Noises came from the studio, but the hallway was clear. She slipped out as quietly as she could and made her way to the rear exit.
Sloan didn’t fool herself into thinking she was safe, even when she stepped into the alley behind the building. At best, she had maybe five minutes before the photographer started wondering what was taking her so long. Once he discovered there was no one in the changing room, the alarm would go out.
At a swift pace, she walked down the alley and crossed the intersecting street to the opposite side, then made her way to the corner. She threw a quick glance in the direction of the studio and noticed the driver leaning against the hood of the car parked out front. Even worse, he was looking away from the studio.
Almost the same instant, Sloan saw an approaching cab with a vacancy light on. Unsure how far she might have to walk to find another, she immediately threw up a hand to hail this one. The cab veered toward her and braked close to the corner.
Heart pounding, Sloan struggled to maneuver herself, the baby, and the cumbersome bag into the backseat. Finally she pulled the door shut and cast an anxious glance over her shoulder, but she couldn’t tell whether the driver had seen her get into the cab. She dug the slip of paper with the address written on it out of her jeans pocket and handed it to the driver. “Please hurry.”
