Live to Tell (Live to Tell #1)(89)

“Mrs. Cameron!” Sharon appears in the corridor leading to the bedrooms. “I thought you weren’t coming home until late tonight!”

“There was an earlier flight to La Guardia so I got on it standby. What’s the matter? Aren’t you thrilled to see me, Sharon?” she teases the nanny.

“Oh no, I am…” She toys with a strand of her long, blond hair. “I mean, I was just putting Avery down for his nap, and when I heard the door, it scared me. I thought maybe it was Mr. Cameron.”

“I know you’ve only been working here a month, darling, but haven’t you figured out yet that Mr. Cameron never, ever shows up at home while the stock market’s open?”

Sharon smiles faintly. To her credit, she doesn’t mention that Mr. Cameron doesn’t exactly rush home at the closing bell, either.

After a long day on the trading floor, Andrew likes to stop off at the Battery Park Ritz-Carlton bar for a couple of scotches.

“I might as well,” he tells Molly, if she ever dares to criticize the habit. “You never get home until late anyway.”

True—and that’s if she gets home at all. Now that Avery is almost a year old, Molly’s been traveling on business again. Not as much as she did before she was pregnant, but enough that she feels more maternal jealousy for the new nanny than she did for the Jamaican baby nurse they’d had for the first six months. Back then, Molly was working from home a lot, and glad for every opportunity to hand her son over to someone else’s capable hands.

She had her doubts about hiring Sharon, who’s younger and a lot more inexperienced with babies than Molly would have liked. Yet she did have a certain aesthetic appeal—an attractive, all-American blonde who had been raised in New England. And though Sharon’s child care references were slim, they were most impressive.

“Are you crazy, hiring a gorgeous young nanny and leaving her alone in the house with your husband?” one of Molly’s friends had asked, the first time she saw Sharon.

“Not at all. For one thing, Andrew is hardly ever in the house. For another thing, she’s not the brightest bulb on the tree. Andrew has no patience for idiots.”

“So you hired an idiot to care for your child? Even better.”

“She’s very sweet, and kind, and Avery loves her,” Molly replied. “And let’s face it, it’s not like I’m going to find a nanny with Mensa on her résumé. Which, by the way, is impressive. Did I tell you who her last employer was?”

So far, Sharon seems to be working out okay. Time will tell.

“I want to see Avery before he falls asleep.” Molly leaves the suitcase and heads for the nursery.

“Oh, are you sure? I mean, he’s so tired, and—”

“I want to see my son.” Molly tosses Sharon a look over her shoulder—her withering look of death, Andrew calls it—that quite effectively cuts her off.

Sharon’s got to be kidding. After three days away, Molly is going to wait until Avery wakes up to see him? Sharon was undoubtedly counting on some free time while the baby sleeps. She’s probably afraid that if Molly disturbs him, he’ll be fussy and refuse to settle back down.

Too bad. Sharon’s job is to take care of him.

Molly opens the door to the nursery. “Mama’s home, baby!”

To her surprise, the shades are open. Avery is in his crib, but he’s not tucked in with the mobile tinkling above. He’s sitting there clad in just his diaper, wide-awake and whimpering.

Molly takes one look at him and screams.



Swamped in a churning tide of panic, Lauren clings to the phone like a life buoy.

Do something! Say something!

She can’t move, can’t seem to find her voice.

“Here’s what I’m going to do,” the caller tells her. “Are you listening?”

She nods mutely.

“Lauren?”

This can’t be happening.

“Yes. Yes, I’m… I’m listening.”

“I’m going take the kids someplace safe. Okay?”

No! Not okay! You can’t take my children!

“Here’s what you’re not going to do,” the strange voice goes on. “You’re not going to call the police. Do you want to know why not? Tell Mommy what I’m holding in my hand, Ryan.”

Her son’s voice is hoarse; barely recognizable. “A gun.”

No. God, no.

“And where is it pointed, Ryan? Tell Mommy.”

“At me.”

Ryan. Her baby boy.

Please, no, no, no…

“That’s right, Lauren. I’m pointing a gun at your son’s head, and I will pull the trigger if I hear a siren, if I spot a police car, anywhere near this house. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she whispers.

“What?”

“Yes! Yes, I understand.”

“Good. I’ve told you what you’re not going to do. Do you want to know what I would like you to do?”

Lauren forces the word. “Yes.”

“Drive back here and wait by the phone. I’m going to call you in a half hour, and you’d better be here, because if you’re not…”

The threat is ominously left unspoken.