Chapter Eight

"That's impossible," Russ insisted. "Run it again."

"What is it?" Jaime asked, leaning forward from Rudy.

The doctor frowned. "Steve, I need to keep your wife still for a few more minutes. Even a temporary patch takes time."

"Sorry, Rudy," Jaime sighed, sitting back on the gurney that was serving as a makeshift bionic operating room.

"Alright, thank you," Russ was saying, hanging up the car phone. "Jaime, how sure are you about that plate number?"

"I wouldn't have given it to you if I wasn't sure. Why?"

Russ ran a frustrated hand across his forehead. "Plate comes back to Phillip Renshaw."

"The Senator's son?" Steve was stunned.

"Maybe the numbers were transposed?" Oscar suggested.

Jaime shook her head. "Not by me"

"I had them run it twice," Russ told them. "He does live nearby, but..."

"Well, let's go then," Jaime said briskly. "Oh - am I done, Rudy?"

"One more second - there." Rudy stepped back from the gurney. "Don't push it. Let Steve do the heavy work." He exchanged a worried glance with Steve.

"Looks like we need to have a chat with a Senator," Steve said, taking his wife's hand, "and his son."

- - -

After a brief sidetrip to pick up their car, Steve and Jaime headed first to Senator Renshaw's office. "Has the Senator been in all day?" Jaime asked casualy while they waited in the outer office.

"Since before I got here," the secretary confirmed

"What time was that?"

"Seven A.M. - just like every day. We start early here."

"What time did he go to lunch?" Steve probed.

"He didn't. But he hardly ever does."

"What about visitors? Like maybe his son?"

The secretary smiled. "Phil? He's been away at Harvard Law since the beginning of August. We won't see him again until probably Thanksgiving."

"He's a good student, I'm guessing?" Jaime asked, still keeping it light.

"4.0 - plus."

"I'll bet that van of his comes n pretty handy, hauling all those law books."

"Oh, he'd never be seen at the Ivy League in a van. He took the TransAm."

"Did he sell the van already?" Steve probed "Because my wife and I could sure use -"

"It's not for sale. Mrs. Renshaw uses it to run errands."

"I know how you feel, Sweetheart," Steve told Jaime as they sped toward the Renshaws' estate. "I feel the same way. But you can't go storming in there accusing a Senator's wife of baby stealing."

"And kidnapping - and murder," Jaime corrected. "Just watch me!"

"Jaime -"

"She has our son!"

"Which is why we can't spook her. If we play this wrong and Adam is somewhere other than at that house..."

"We'll never see him again," Jaime concluded, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks.

"We'll get him back," Steve repeated. "How's your arm feel?"

"Alright; hurts a little."

"Knowing you, on a pain scale of 1 - 10, about a 27?"

"30. But I'm ok," Jaime assured him. "There's the driveway."

Steve turned off the engine and pulled the car to the side of the road. "You could wait here," he suggested.

"Like Hell!" Jaime started up the lawn faster than Steve knew she should be moving. He also knew there was no way he could stop her.

The estate was obscenely large for a 3-member family. A humble Rambler was parked out front, between a Cadillac...and the van. As if on cue, the main door opened and Anita Renshaw escorted a beaming young couple toward the Rambler. Jaime gasped; in between them, cradled in both sets of arms, the young couple was carrying...Adam.

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