Chapter 8 - The Cornered Mother
Mara didn't hesitate.
As Evan lunged over the mahogany desk, she grabbed the heavy brass banker’s lamp and swung it with all the force in her upper body. The heavy metal base clipped Evan across the forearm, shattering the green glass shade into a hail of green shards.
Evan cried out, stumbling backward and clutching his wrist.
Mara bolted for the door, unlocked the deadbolt, and burst out into the hallway.
"Claire!" Evan yelled from the study, his voice raw with pain. "Stop her! She has the Delaware papers!"
Claire emerged from the kitchen at the end of the hall, her eyes flashing toward Mara. She didn't hesitate; she grabbed a full glass pitcher of water from the breakfast table and hurled it directly onto the polished hardwood in front of the stairs, creating a slick, lethal trap.
Mara saw it just in time, veering sharply into the living room.
Noah was lying in his bassinet, awake now, his big blue eyes staring up at the mobile above him, kicking his little feet in their fleece booties.
Mara scooped him into her arms, blanket and all, pulling him against her chest with one arm while her other hand reached into her pocket for her phone.
"Put him down, Mara!" Claire screamed, stepping into the living room, her sleek hair coming undone, her polished demeanor shattering into pure, manic fury. "You touch that child and you’ll leave this house in handcuffs!"
The front door suddenly clicked open.
Denise Porter walked in, carrying a clipboard, flanked by Marcus and two uniformed police officers from the Columbus Metropolitan Police Department.
"What is going on here?" Denise demanded, her sharp eyes taking in the scene: Evan bleeding from a cut on his wrist in the hallway, Claire screaming with a pitcher shard in her hand, and Mara holding the baby in the center of the room.
"Thank God you're here!" Claire cried instantly, pointing at Mara with a trembling, theatrical hand. "She snapped! She attacked Evan with a lamp and tried to throw Noah down the stairs!"
Evan stumbled into the room, leaning heavily against the wall. "Officer, she’s completely unhinged. She’s having a violent psychotic episode. Get the baby away from her!"
The two officers immediately unclipped the retention straps on their holsters, stepping forward with their hands raised. "Ma'am, step away from the child. Place the baby on the sofa and put your hands behind your back."
Mara stood completely still. Noah let out a soft coo against her neck.
"Denise," Mara said. Her voice wasn't screaming. It was low, resonant, and entirely steady. "Look at my eyes. Am I psychotic?"
Denise Porter paused, her eyes searching Mara’s face.
"Marcus," Mara continued, turning her gaze to the young social worker who had subtly moved toward the front door. "Don't bother trying to delete the Delaware transfer portal from your iPad. The police cyber-crimes unit will pull it from the server cache within twenty minutes."
Marcus froze, his face draining of all color.
"What are you talking about?" Denise demanded, her sharp gaze whipping toward her subordinate.
"The toxicology results," Mara said, keeping her eyes fixed on Denise. "Did they come back from the lab this morning?"
Denise hesitated, then reached into her portfolio. "They came back twenty minutes ago. Completely negative. Zero trace of illicit narcotics, amphetamines, or non-prescribed sedatives."
"Of course they are," Mara said. She pulled the folded Delaware County promissory note and the forged adoption petition from her sweater with her free hand and dropped them onto the coffee table before Denise. "Because the woman who bought the sedatives in that alleyway wasn't me. It was Claire Vance."
Claire lunged forward. "Don't look at that! She’s fabricating evidence!"
"Officer, secure her!" Denise commanded, her voice cutting through the room like a bullwhip.
One of the officers immediately caught Claire by the shoulders, shoving her back into the armchair as she struggled violently, cursing in a voice so foul it made the patrolman raise his eyebrows.
"Read the contract, Denise," Mara said, tears finally spilling over her lashes, not from fear, but from the unbearable release of survival. "Evan stole half a million dollars from his firm. He traded my baby to Claire to keep himself out of prison. And your assistant, Marcus, was paid fifty thousand dollars through an offshore escrow account to file false reports against me to facilitate the transfer."
Marcus turned and bolted for the front door.
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The second police officer moved with terrifying speed, tackling Marcus onto the entryway rug with a heavy crash that sent his iPad skittering across the floorboards.
***
