Running on Envy Read online

  “That is a strong possibility,” Charlie said.

  If this indeed was a random kidnapping, it wouldn’t be the first time my intuition had led me astray. But it might very well be the first time Charlie, MacGregor, and I were all wrong. Add to that, Josh’s insight on the kidnapper not knowing the size of the baby unless it was someone he knew, I remained unconvinced that it was random. Whoever was behind this kidnapping knew the Elliots in some capacity, whether they realized it or not.

  Charlie nodded at MacGregor who put his arm around Shelby’s waist and helped her down the porch steps. Carter watched anxiously as they crossed the street.

  When several reporters converged on them, Carter said, “That’s why you thought Malcolm should escort her, isn’t it? To deal with the reporters.”

  Charlie shrugged. “That and I wanted to ask you a question.”

  “What?”

  “Is there anyone—anyone you suspect could have done this?”

  Carter rubbed his head and thought for a moment. “No one. None of our friends or my colleagues. No one.”

  “Okay, I just wanted to be sure.”

  “If you’re thinking I’m having an affair and my lover is jealous and did this—You’re barking up the wrong tree, Charlie. I would never cheat on Shelby.”

  “I didn’t consider that for a moment.”

  Carter nodded. “Good. And just so you know, I agree with Shelby. Her ex-husband, Greg Rallings, would never do anything to hurt Jillian or her. Or any of us for that matter. He’s a good friend. To all of us.”

  Greg Rallings? Wasn’t that the name of the other person to whom Shelby had spoken that morning? Two calls to Greg Rallings. Four to Carter Elliot. But it was logical. They shared a daughter. It made perfect sense.

  But one question remained unanswered. If they were as close to him as they appeared to be, surely he had been in their home. So, why had they left Greg Rallings’ name off their list?

  Chapter 4

  MacGregor wrapped me in a plush bath towel the moment I stepped out of his lovely bathtub. Wasn’t it enough that he was gorgeous with that thick brown eternally messy hair and twinkling brown eyes and a smile that could seduce a woman from a mile away? The man actually understood women. He had installed a Jacuzzi on his deck overlooking the Sound and an oversized bathtub in his master bathroom.

  Of course, he did enjoy them himself after a workout or a fierce soccer game. Still, the man understood women. Being a university physics professor, he had plenty of exposure to them. There were those who flirted and those who offered bribes for higher grades, those who switched their majors to physics, and those like his wee red-headed buddy Maureen Sharkey who cried on his shoulder. And then there were those he inspired as he had me from the moment I had walked into his classroom over twenty years ago.

  As he did with all his students, he had called me by my last name. I had liked it. And for some odd reason, I especially had liked the fact that he had not switched to my married name after I had married Joe Campbell. Nor had he switched to calling me by my first name once I was no longer his student. I, in turn, had dropped the Professor and had simply called him MacGregor. It had stuck.

  He edged closer, pressing his towel to mine.

  “Mmm, you’d best stop that or we won’t be attending this function that we promised Charlie we would attend.”

  “Mmm, do you suppose I care, lassie?”

  “As long as you’re okay with Charlie coming over and beating down the door.”

  He pulled away from my neck that he was inadvertently—hmm, right—nuzzling. “Damn.”

  “That afraid of my father’s ability to beat down your door?”

  “He has a key.”

  “Damn.”

  “But we have about”—he glanced at his watch—”ten minutes to play with.”

  “If you mean play around with, it’s not nearly enough.”

  The impish gleam in his George Clooney eyes caused my heartbeat to race. “How about we just lie on the bed in each other’s arms and catch our breaths.”

  I glanced down at the towel he was wearing around his waist from having just stepped out of the shower. “We’re dressed in towels, MacGregor. You really think this is wise?”

  He grasped my hand and pulled me into the bedroom. “Holding you in my arms with only two towels between us is always wise, McNair.”

  Little had I known that I would fall more deeply in love with this man every single day. We lay on his bed, holding each other gently, careful not to stir up any desires that were doing well enough on their own. When he kissed me, I thought it was all over. Charlie could send out a search party for all I cared.

  But MacGregor’s self-control was impressive. He stopped after one kiss and simply held me in his arms as we lay together on the bed. We were silent for most of our ten minutes. He respected my silences. He understood them. Either I was busy daydreaming or overanalyzing, or I was clearing my mind so my intuition had a chance to do what it did best—intuit.

  When I sighed, he kissed me gently on the forehead. “What is it, McNair?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Never nothing with you.”

  I sighed again and he laughed.

  I retraced my thoughts. They were stuck on the neighboring family we had just met. “What do you think about their relationship?”

  “They seem happily married, devoted to each other, at least Carter certainly is to Shelby.” He had known immediately about whom I was speaking.

  “And Jillian?”

  “Adores her mum. But not very happy about her being married to someone who isn’t her father. Doesn’t hate him, but isn’t one hundred percent comfortable with him, or at least doesn’t want them to think she is. That would be unfaithful to her father. Still holding out for her parents to get back together.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  He laughed and raised himself onto his elbow to peer down at me. “What? You think you’re the only perceptive one here?”

  “Seriously? You know I think your ability to sense energy is amazing. And your understanding of young women is to be admired.”

  “I’ve been around a lot of young women over the past twenty years. I couldn’t have survived if I hadn’t learned to at least detect some of their thoughts and read their intentions—potential energy and all that.”

  Particularly when their intentions were to seduce him. “So, having known my daughter since she was born, tell me, how is she going to react to our engagement?”

  His frown said it all. “Why do you think I wanted a few minutes with you to myself?”

  “That bad?”

  “She’s crazy about Joe.”

  “She’s angry at him for what he did.”

  “She’ll forgive him.”

  He was right. She would be the first one to forgive him. Matthew would hold onto his anger for a long time and utilize it in his writing. I was getting close to forgiveness, but that stubborn streak was still hanging on to the concept of revenge. It had involved betrayal after all. A betrayal that comes not only from cheating on a spouse but from exposing their deepest thoughts and feelings to a stranger. That’s hard to get past. Even when, in the end, you appreciate the breakup of a marriage because it has led you to a far deeper and more satisfying relationship. It’s still betrayal.

  “MacGregor? Who do you think kidnapped Ally?”

  “I wish I knew, McNair. I’ve really no idea. What about you?”

  “I don’t know. I do believe Carter and Shelby aren’t involved. And they’re convinced her ex isn’t. So that leaves—”

  “Anyone else out there.”

  “Pretty much.”

  The police had not found anything. No surveillance cameras in the neighborhood. No witnesses who had seen so much as an unfamiliar car leaving the area. No evidence in their home of any kind to implicate anyone. Nothing but business and personal finances and personal communications on the Elliots’ computers. Innocent searches on the web involving spo
rts news, recipes, and the latest in baby ware and toys for tots. They had even scoured poor Jillian’s computer. Although less outspoken than my own daughter would have been under the same circumstances, clearly Jillian had been horrified when she learned they had confiscated her laptop. They would after all, be reading all of her emails to and from friends as well as her Facebook page. While that was a horrid invasion of anyone’s privacy, it was particularly humiliating to a teenage girl. I suspected there was plenty of chatter about boys and which ones they liked and didn’t. And how far they had gone and were likely to go. I recalled that blush she’d suffered when the subject of boys had come up. Not a subject she would want to discuss in front of her mother and stepfather, let alone have strangers reading about.

  “I think tomorrow is going to be important.” MacGregor broke into my thoughts.

  “I agree. I only hope the police haven’t traumatized the college athletes so much with their inquiries today that they won’t show up tomorrow.”

  “If that’s the case, we’ll go to them. The athletic director already emailed me a list of names and addresses of everyone on the boys’ track and field team. Now, I think we’d best get ready for this social event Charlie has roped us into attending.”

  “Did he say how we should dress?”

  “Semi-formal.”

  “Wonderful.”

  MacGregor laughed. “We can always stop in at Maureen’s mum’s boutique on the way and pick you up some new clothes.”

  I groaned but before I could make an irate remark about his implied insult to my hippy wardrobe, he covered my mouth with his. Then he whispered, “You’ll look beautiful in whatever you wear.”

  “Yeah, right.” I inched off the bed and headed for his closet where my few dressy outfits were hanging. Fortunately they were here and not on the island. Realizing that I never needed to wear anything but jeans and corduroy or cotton slacks on the island, I had brought my dressier clothes to MacGregor’s. Two hippy dresses and a lavender gown that, to Joe’s horror, and Holly’s, I had over-worn to Joe’s lawyer bashes. Holly had attempted to remedy the hole in my wardrobe on numerous occasions, but somehow we had always left the shops with new clothes for her instead of me.

  “Any will be lovely.” MacGregor had sneaked up behind me.

  I raised my eyebrows and reached for the madras dress. I’d be more comfortable wearing that one to the airport, even if I would have to hear my daughter’s comments about my pathetic and outdated wardrobe. Okay, so my daughter was my greatest weakness in life—Holly and ice cream. I allowed them both to push my buttons. I finally decided on a pair of beige linen slacks and a simple white blouse. At least it had pearl buttons. It that wasn’t fancy enough for Seattle, what was?

  “Did you forget to tell me something, Charlie?” I scanned the room of Seattle elegance.

  “And what might that be, luv?” Charlie looked debonair in his dark grey suit, his thick graying hair still very much intact, and a twinkle in his soft brown eyes.

  Still I managed a glare. “That this is a lawyer bash.”

  “Not entirely. It just happens that George Green is an attorney.”

  “You could have warned me. Don’t you think I’ve been to enough of these to last a lifetime and then some?”

  “Sorry, darlin’, you’re right. I should have told you.” He gave me his puppy dog look that melted the hearts of women half his age.

  “Not working.”

  “How can I make it up to you?”

  “Trust me. I’ll think of something.”

  “Is Joe going to be here?” MacGregor asked.

  “No. I made certain of that.”

  “Decent of you.” MacGregor gave Charlie a scathing look and then turned to me. “You can leave if you want, McNair. I’ll stay here with Charlie.”

  “To keep him out of mischief?” I scowled at my father. “It’s okay. It’s only two hours. How bad can it be?” Ha, I knew all too well. The scent of fresh cut roses and lavender filled the room. A tad overwhelming. I could always use a headache as an excuse to leave. “So, what’s our job?”

  “Mingle. Gossip. There are our clients, Judy and George Green.” He nodded in their direction.

  They were easy to spot amidst the dark suits and elegant gowns, expensive jewelry, and designer high heels that caused my feet to ache from across the room. The Greens were expert greeters. They had done this before. He was tall, blond, and handsome, in his early forties perhaps, a relaxed smile on his face. Judy had dark hair, intense green eyes, and, judging from the look on several men’s faces, a mouth-watering figure. She seemed younger, mid thirties perhaps, but age was difficult to determine due to her caked-on makeup that I could see from ten feet away. Her greeting smile was less relaxed than George’s, almost appearing to be affixed to her face.

  Yet clearly, Judy Green was in her element, thriving on the attention of Seattle’s rich and elite. At least the male half of the population. She flirted, gushed, and clung, all the while her permanent smile not wavering. I recalled what Charlie had told us about her. Despite being appreciated—superficially—by the male population, she was not well liked. But she didn’t have any enemies. No one hung around her long enough to become one. Yet beneath her careless exterior, I sensed a deep sadness and vulnerability.

  “Get into conversations with people, praise the host and hostess,” Charlie directed us, “and detect who disagrees with your comments either blatantly or with a subtle look.”

  “There are a lot of people here.” MacGregor studied the gathering of well over fifty people. “Are they all under suspicion?”

  “Some are family, friends, and colleagues who always attend their parties. It would have looked odd if they’d been left out. The rest are people they believe are not particularly fond of them.”

  “So this event was basically scheduled for that purpose?”

  “Aye, it was. Best if we split up. If you gather any information, come stand by this Grecian urn, is it?”

  It was an urn all right. I just wasn’t sure it was Grecian.

  After Charlie introduced us to Judy and George, we went our separate ways. I recognized several faces both from my days as a lawyer’s wife and from working with Charlie on unfaithful spouse cases. Happily no one seemed to recognize me. I always had felt invisible at those social events that Joe had guilted me into attending. After thirty minutes of gushing, complimenting, and praising the food, dress, jewelry, home, and décor, I had come up empty. Neither Charlie nor MacGregor had made their way to the urn so I figured the same was true for them.

  Spotting a lone woman perhaps in her mid thirties who reminded me of me as she sat by herself, I joined her. More for a break than out of pity. “Hello, how are you doing?”

  “Do I know you?” Her grey eyes opened wide and I thought perhaps they were on the verge of tears. Had her husband brought her here and then abandoned her? As lovely as she was with amber hair, high cheekbones, and a trim figure, it would not have been wise, not in a room full of wolves who I knew had cheated on their spouses more than once.

  “I don’t believe so. I’m Jenny McNair.”

  “Oh.”

  “And you’re—?”

  “Marsha.” Apparently she didn’t have a last name.

  I decided to overlook her borderline rudeness. “It’s nice to meet you. Are you okay?”

  “Yes, of course. Why would you ask that?”

  “Because you’re sitting alone in the corner at a party.”

  Her eyes darted around the room. “I needed a break.”

  “I understand. I do too.” I sat down on the chair adjacent to hers. “As lovely a party as it is, they can be exhausting.”

  “True.”

  “The food is delicious, don’t you think?” I chomped into an hors d’oeuvres that I couldn’t quite identify.

  She shrugged.

  “They have a lovely home here.”

  Again she shrugged. Maybe I’d struck gold. Or at least a possible lead. She wa
s the first person who hadn’t sung praises in response to my complimentary comments about the hosts.

  It was time to pry. “Do you know the Greens well?”

  “Well enough.”

  Wow. When had I lost my ability to get people to open up? Or even have a civil conversation? Some spiritual counselor I was. “You’re a friend of theirs?”

  She sighed, then laughed. “I’m not sure I’d call myself that. If you’ll excuse me—” With that she gulped down the remainder of her white wine, stood up and left me to ponder our exchange of words. I wasn’t sure it qualified as a conversation.

  “Still putting yourself in the corner, Jenny?”

  I looked up and smiled at one of the few attorneys I was happy to see. “Scott Morrison!” I stood to receive the hug he was offering. “It’s wonderful to see you!”

  “You too, Jenny. It’s been a while.”

  It hadn’t been that long, I realized, but both of our lives had changed dramatically over the past six months. “How have you been, Scott?” I looked into his sweet brown eyes for an honest answer.

  “I’m okay. Doing better.” I believed him. His smile revealed a single dimple in his right cheek. “I took some time off.” His tan and his sandy blond hair that seemed blonder told me that. “I’m working with Jim Gimble now. Things are getting better.”

  “I’m really glad to hear that.”

  “How about you, Jenny? Are you and Joe—?”

  “Divorced? Yes. And I’ve never been happier.”

  “What’s this?” He glanced down at my finger that bore the vintage diamond ring that I had selected and MacGregor had purchased last week.

  “Don’t worry. I didn’t just meet him. He’s an old friend.”

  “Still, you’re brave, Jenny.” A skeptic after one failed marriage? He was too young and too cute for that.

  “It’s easy to be brave when you’re in love.” I reached for his hand and squeezed it. “You will be again too, Scott.”

  A single raised eyebrow confirmed his skepticism. “Is he here with you? I didn’t even realize you knew the Greens.”