The Toddler's Tale. Rebecca Winters

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      While he’d been talking to Chelsea, he hadn’t heard a peep come out of the child. If hypothermia were to set in now, the chances of the little girl surviving much longer were slim at best.

      “If I do help her, I’m going to need a lot more information.”

      He saw the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the becoming sleeveless dress before she let go of his arm, visible evidence of emotions held barely in check. Again he questioned what was at the bottom of this unprecedented display of concern.

      Still reacting to the feel of her hands on his body, he walked to the other woman and got down on his haunches once more.

      Traci cowered when he drew close to her. Her reaction was similar to the kind he’d encountered with other female victims in abusive relationships of one sort or another when he’d been on the police force.

      Now that Traci knew he’d been told the truth, he could see she was frightened of his reaction. Chelsea hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said Betsy’s mother was fragile.

      “Traci? You heard Chelsea discussing your situation with me. She’s told me enough that I want to help you.”

      The younger woman lifted tear-filled eyes to him. “You won’t tell the police where I am and force me to go back to my husband?”

      He swallowed with difficulty. “No. But first I need more background information. Is Traci Beal your real name?”

      After a long hesitation she shook her head. “I made it up.”

      “Then I need to know your legal name.”

      “Why?”

      “It’s important if I’m going to protect you.”

      “I was Anne Morrison before my marriage.”

      “All right. For the time being, we’ll continue to call you Traci.”

      Chelsea gave her an encouraging smile, which Traci returned.

      “Now, what’s your husband’s full name?”

      “Nathan Stanhope. But he’s always gone by Nate.”

      “Age?”

      “Forty.”

      “Tell me about his background, how he earns his living, that sort of thing.”

      She kneaded her hands. “He was an only child. His mother died of cancer when he was twelve, and after his father was killed in a bus accident, he received an inheritance. As soon as the estate was settled, he bought a cabin outside Bellevue.

      “We met while I was attending Washington State University. He was my political science teacher. After we married, he resigned from the faculty and said we were going to live at his cabin. At least that’s what I thought it was.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “He’s built a secret bunker underneath it where he stores everything. When I questioned him, he got angry and told me it was just a basement. But since he’s always talking about a nuclear holocaust, I realized he’d made a bomb shelter.”

      “Does he have other extended family or close friends who would be helping him look for you?”

      She shook her head. “No. After we got married, I found out he didn’t like to associate with other people. He said they lied about everything, so we were going to have to live on our own and have nothing to do with them.”

      Judging by the look of horror he saw reflected in Chelsea’s eyes, she felt as sickened by that revelation as he was.

      “Give me a full description of him.”

      “Nate’s six feet tall…lean, with dark blond hair that comes just down to below his ears. He has a short beard and mustache, and light blue eyes.”

      “What about glasses?”

      “He wears them for reading. They’re steel-rimmed.”

      “Any distinctive birthmarks or tattoos?”

      “No.”

      “What about his car?”

      “He drives an eighty-nine light green Chevy van.”

      “When did he start keeping you a prisoner?”

      “The day we got married.”

      Max didn’t like the profile emerging on Traci’s husband.

      “Where was your baby born?”

      “At the cabin.”

      “No doctor to help?”

      “No. He said we were going to do everything the natural way.”

      Little by little the color had left Chelsea’s face.

      “How did you get away from him?”

      “Last week some people in a truck camped near our cabin. It was late at night. Nate got so angry, he took his rifle and went outside to warn them off the property without remembering to lock the door. I’d been waiting for a chance like that. As soon as he was out of sight, I grabbed the baby from her crib and ran. When I got tired, I hid in some thick bushes.

      “As soon as it was light, I started running again and met this nice old couple who were out camping. They fed us and drove us as far as Portland. We’ve been hitchhiking ever since.”

      Max didn’t have to ask her why she hadn’t gone to the police for assistance. Women like Traci never did. Her husband had tyrannized her for too long. She had no faith that anyone could help.

      “What about your family?”

      “The aunt who raised me died before I got married.”

      “Is there anyone you were close to before your wedding? A good friend your husband might have reason to suspect is helping you now?”

      “Not really. He didn’t like my friends, so I didn’t see them anymore.”

      “I still want their names and addresses. It’s for their protection. I’m going to need directions to find your cabin, too.”

      He pulled his little notebook out of a back pocket. When she’d given him the information, he helped her to her feet. “Now comes the hard part, Traci. That siren in the distance means the police and paramedics will be driving up any minute to begin Betsy’s rescue. They’ll be followed by television reporters who want to take pictures and interview you.

      “We’re going to have to hide you in order to keep your identity a secret so your husband can’t track you down. The best place for that would be the house next door. The only thing is, you won’t be able to talk to your little girl while we’re getting her out of the pipe.”

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