Operation Bassinet

by Joyce Sullivan

  She took one more step toward him and Mitch went the rest of the distance. Her fingers tore at his T-shirt, peeling it off him, before she hooked her fingers around his neck and tugged his mouth down to hers.

  Need, long suppressed, raced through Mitch like a raging current through newly opened floodgates. He drank Stef’s kisses and demanded more, longer ones, deeper ones. His fingers fumbled with the belt of her robe. He needed to feel her skin against his.

  Stef, he realized, wasn’t waiting for him to catch up. She impatiently jerked his shorts from his hips, breaking a kiss as she freed his arousal and dispatched his shorts to the floor. Mitch shuddered as her fingers circled his erection in an intimate embrace. “I want you, Mitch,” she murmured against his mouth. She kissed his chin, his throat. Then his collarbone. Her tongue ran a damp trail down to his sternum.

  “I’m going to cut this robe off you,” Mitch growled in frustration.

  Stef laughed, a soft throaty, sexy sound. Her fingers nudged his aside and undid the belt. Mitch slid the cumbersome robe off her shoulders. She was wearing a pale pink nightgown with a triangle of black lace inset in the bodice. It was a lethal combination of innocence and sex appeal.

  Mitch gripped the hem. “This is in the way.”

  Her green-gold eyes sparkled up at him. “My thoughts exactly.”

  She helped him lift it over her head so it wouldn’t catch on her bandage.

  Mitch gazed at Stef’s naked body as she stood in front of him and wanted to worship at her feet. Reverently he touched her breasts, marveling in their softness and the golden hue of her skin. “You’re so incredibly beautiful. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

  “Guess you’ve been hanging out in the wrong places,” she said teasingly. Her hands skimmed over his chest.

  Mitch nibbled at her ear, at her jaw, his fingers kneading and shaping her rosy-tipped nipples into sharp points. He tasted the delicate skin of her throat and finally found her breasts with his mouth.

  Stef moaned and moved against him, pressing her belly against his arousal. Mitch slid his hand down over her satin skin to explore the incredible softness of her inner thighs. She was so hot.

  He nudged her thighs apart and probed into the dark curls that hid the sweetest part of her. Mitch went down on his knees to taste her vanilla sweetness, parting those dark curls and seeking the honeyed pearl that would bring her the greatest pleasure. Her fingers threaded through his hair, urging him not to end her torment.

  “Oh, Mitch!”

  Frantically she gripped his shoulders as tremors rocked through her delicate body. Mitch savored her, with his tongue, with his fingers and finally, when he didn’t think he could hold on to his control any longer, he ripped open a foil packet and covered himself. Pulling her into his embrace as they tumbled on to the bed arms and legs intertwined, he entered her.

  His first thought was that she was too small, he was going to hurt her. But she wrapped her legs around his hips, accommodating him with tiny seductive wiggles and suddenly he was all the way in, and it was a perfect fit.

  Mitch growled with a deep-seated pleasure he’d never experienced before. A feeling of oneness, of wholeness, exploded through him. He deliberately kept his pace slow, wanting to drag out the joy of being with Stef, but his body was hurtling him toward another destination.

  He caught her face between his hands so he could see her eyes. “Stay with me, sweetheart.” His thrusts became more forceful, every part of him straining to be joined with her. Perspiration beaded on his skin as they lifted and moved in a rhythm all their own. To Mitch’s delight, she stayed with him, right to the spellbinding end when she called out his name.

  As the sweat cooled on their bodies and they touched each other with gentle caresses, Mitch plucked the picture of his grandfather from the bedside table and placed it in her hands. He told her things he’d never told anyone else—about helping Paddy mop floors and empty wastebaskets. About some of the lessons he’d learned from that quiet-spoken old man, whom he’d gone from hating to revering. He knew that he would love Stephanie Shelton for the rest of his life. And that he could never have her.

  This would have to be enough.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I made love with Mitch.” Stef tried saying the words out loud to the bathroom mirror after her shower later that morning. The glow burning inside her at the intimacy she’d shared with Mitch was waging an all-out war with her conscience, which was fighting back with nasty jabs of guilt. How could she have made love to the man who had exposed every illusion she treasured about her husband and her daughter and traded them for heartache and danger?

  Even though Brad had been dead for more than two years, Stef waffled between feeling that she’d somehow betrayed him and Keely by making love with Mitch and her mind’s stubborn rebuttal that Mitch wasn’t her enemy.

  After the stories he’d told her about his grandfather, she knew Mitch was a noble man by nature. He’d taken on the task of reuniting a stolen child with her family and had discovered that the situation was more complex than it initially seemed. He cared about Keely—just as she knew he cared about every child he searched for. This case was tearing him apart, too.

  In the bleak light of morning, her arguments seemed as transitory as the steam obscuring the bathroom mirror; a fog thinly veiling the deeper fears festering in her breast.

  Fears that she’d never hold her biological child in her arms. That a judge would rip Keely from her life. And that she would be foolish to let herself believe that she could depend on Mitch forever. As soon as this case was over, another would take its place, and she would be left alone.

  MITCH AND STEF had slept together last night. Marquise, the butler, discreetly informed Hunter of that fact as he entered Hunter’s bedroom carrying a tray bearing black coffee, the newspapers and the stack of reports that had arrived overnight by fax.

  Hunter didn’t ask Marquise if he was sure. Marquise never spoke if he wasn’t sure.

  Two months ago Hunter would have summoned Mitch and summarily dismissed him. But this time Hunter hesitated. It had nothing to do with Mitch’s considerable investigative skills or his contribution toward this case, although Hunter certainly had never met a more competent or dedicated investigator. No, it had more to do with the incongruity. Mitch Halloran had a sterling service record with the L.A.P.D. There had never been one hint of inappropriate behavior. And Mitch had told him last night that he never stayed with a woman longer than two months. Mitch wasn’t the kind of man to take his pleasure with a client. Maybe Mitch’s involvement with Stephanie Shelton was different. Serious.

  Hunter looked longingly at the empty side of his bed, wishing Juliana was lounging beside him so he could solicit her opinion. His darling wife had a tendency to view things from a more humane perspective. She’d found the humanity in him after all. He wanted to ask Juliana if Stephanie Shelton had seen past Mitch’s job to the man beneath?

  He would see if Juliana noticed anything between them, then bring up the subject.

  MITCH WAS SHELL-SHOCKED. His heart stammered, his hands shook and he felt nauseated. And panic was trying to push its way to the surface. Mitch was deathly afraid if that panic escaped, he might go crazy. He’d managed to avoid Stef most of the day, thank God. He was not sure how he would react to seeing her. He needed some time to let his head get control of his emotions.

  In among the panic and the nausea and the fear was one other reaction. They’d made love and he wanted her again. And again. And again.

  He’d found everything he’d ever wanted in Stef’s arms, but he knew it couldn’t possibly last. Someday she’d grow to resent him, blame him for destroying her life.

  He and G.D. had been closeted in the study, going over the information that seemed to flow into the apartment on a paper river. Occasionally they heard footsteps in the hall or laughter or Keely’s singing. They were compiling as much information as possible on Tony, trying to trace his life backward to his family. No rec
ord of birth could be found in New York or the nearby states. Nothing had turned up yet on the emergency contact number for an F. Conklin listed on Tony’s apartment rental agreement. They were checking all the Conklins within the same area code. Two addresses had popped up on Tony’s credit report, the address they knew about and an even older previous address from his days in the military. The Guardian was using his extensive contacts to pull favors, trying to get family information from Tony’s military records.

  One of G.D.’s operatives reported that Tony had been dishonorably discharged from Uncle Sam’s army for threatening a superior officer. It was one more piece in the puzzle of Tony Conklin.

  But the question remained. Had Tony met an untimely death like Brad, or was he alive and living under an alias?

  Mitch plowed through The Guardian’s files on the Collingwood murder investigation. Sable Holden still ranked as their main suspect because of the videotape Brad had made, but he didn’t want to overlook some other connection.

  In the late afternoon G.D.’s phone rang with the location of Sable Holden’s family property in the Catskills. The house in Windham belonged to Sable’s aunt on her mother’s side of the family. Mitch and G.D. dispatched three teams of operatives posing as couples on vacation to check it out.

  Mitch sought Stef out to give her the news. She, Juliana and Keely were having tea at a cloth-draped table in the living room. Keely was dressed in a pink-and-white princess dress, a tiara of glittering paste diamonds rested askew on her dark curls. Stef wore a very sexy red felt hat with a scrap of black netting that created a veil over her left eye. Juliana had a lacy shawl draped around her shoulders and ropes of pearls circling her neck. They were talking and laughing, but Mitch felt a strange sense of foreboding as he looked at the happy trio. Maybe it was the fear that this could all horribly come to an end depending on what they found in Windham.

  As if sensing his presence, Stef stopped talking and her gaze found him in the doorway. Mitch tried to smile at her reassuringly, but his heart slammed down to his stomach. He loved her. He wanted to make her laugh for the rest of his life. Wanted to protect her from further pain.

  Fear and uncertainty shaded her eyes. Mitch hoped that it was because she sensed he had important news about the case, not because she regretted what had happened between them last night.

  He cleared his throat, unable to take his gaze off her, remembering how incredibly soft her skin was to his touch. “Excuse me, Princess Keely, but I need to have a word with your mommy.”

  Stef set down her teacup. “I’ll be right back, Kee.”

  Mitch resisted the urge to extend his hand to her as she came toward him, her body moving with feminine grace.

  With a nod of his head, he indicated they could talk privately down the hall.

  He heard the quick intake of air as she dragged a breath into her lungs and rounded on him. “What is it?”

  He reached for her hand then—he couldn’t help it, his thumb caressing her knuckles. “We’ve got an address for Sable’s family’s place in the Catskills.”

  “Thank God!” Her face lit up like a candle behind a glass globe, beaming with golden light. She threw her arms around him. “She’s got to be there, Mitch.”

  Mitch caught her to him, the contact of her sweet-scented body a poignant reminder of how seamlessly they’d melded into one just a few hours before. He tried to bring her back down to earth gently. “Don’t get your hopes up too soon. This is just one of many leads we’re pursuing. And you’ll have to be patient. It could be days before we know for sure if she’s there. We don’t want to blow this.”

  “Okay. I’ll try. But it’s wonderful.” Mitch stilled when she kissed his cheek. He felt his face grow red with unaccustomed shyness. He wondered how many men took that simple gesture from their wives for granted.

  Mitch steeled himself to let her go. He tenderly brushed a stray hair from her face. “I have to get back to work. Be strong.”

  So help him, God, they had to find her daughter alive.

  THE WEEKEND PASSED with agonizing slowness. The operatives in Windham had secured accommodations in the area, even managing to rent a home within a half-mile walk of the property. But their surveillance efforts were hampered by the home’s secluded lakeside location. It was difficult to get a glimpse inside the windows of the Victorian home because of the spruce and fir trees dotting the property. One of the couples had approached a real estate agent about the house and were told that Sable’s aunt would never sell the place. The house was always overflowing with visitors and grandchildren.

  Every time G.D.’s cell phone rang Mitch tensed, hoping for positive confirmation that a two-and-a-half-year-old child had been observed. Or that G.D.’s contact would come through with information on Tony Conklin’s next of kin from his military records. Stef was climbing the walls. They hadn’t made love again. And Mitch was relieved she was being as discreet as he was about keeping their physical relationship under wraps.

  But he had a feeling G.D. might be clued in to something, though he hadn’t said anything. Mitch had already figured out how he’d respond if G.D. called him on it. No matter what happened, he was not going to be fired from this case.

  When G.D.’s phone rang Monday morning, Mitch jerked his head up from the reports he was going over to shamelessly eavesdrop. The conversation, however, was short and one-sided. G.D. hardly said a word except, “We’re on our way.”

  “We’re on our way where?” Mitch asked.

  “To the office. Get Mrs. Shelton. They’ve found something on Brad Shelton’s laptop.”

  STEF GRIPPED HER HANDS together as they entered the same conference room she’d been in five days ago. The dreadlocked computer tech and the ice-blond electronics specialist were waiting for them. Stef was nervous and resigned to face whatever had been found on Brad’s laptop.

  A hollow feeling grew inside her as the electronics expert kicked off the meeting with a simplified explanation of how a conversation taped on the recording device could be downloaded into a computer. “The conversation could then be edited, bits added or subtracted,” the blonde summarized.

  The computer tech cleared his throat. “We found several conversations between Sable and Ross Collingwood on Brad Shelton’s laptop,” he added. “Brad had been piecing them together. We believe this is the final version.” He touched the Play button on the recording device.

  The hollow feeling in Stef’s stomach turned acidic as she listened to the tape. It was an altered version of the conversation she and Mitch had found. In this version, Ross Collingwood accepted Sable’s invitation to join her in the hotel room she’d booked. The background noise changed to a quieter environment as if they’d retired to a room. Then Stef heard Ross Collingwood say, “Careful what you ask for, Sable.”

  “Ross, darling, I know exactly what I’m doing,” Sable replied in a sultry voice. “We both knew this was inevitable.” The murmurs of a kiss and the whispers of fabric being removed, played out on the tape.

  The Ice Blonde stopped the tape, embarrassment touching her pale cheeks. “It goes on like that for another minute or two, then clicks off.”

  Stef wouldn’t let herself dwell on how Brad had recorded those kissing sounds. She absolutely did not want to know. She’d reached the point where she was tired of defending him. The only thing that seemed important was getting her biological child back safely.

  Beneath the table a solid thigh aligned itself beside hers, lending emotional support. She nudged Mitch’s leg back slightly with her own, acknowledging the message, and leveled her gaze on The Guardian. “What do we do now?”

  “Mitch and I are going to play the tape for Sable and convince her that things will go easier for her if she cooperates fully and gives us your daughter’s location.”

  Stef realized she was trembling. And then she started to cry. She prayed Sable had taken good care of her baby.

  SABLE TOOK ONE LOOK at the unflinching, uncompromising expressions on both The Gua
rdian’s and Evan Mitchell’s handsome faces as they filed into her office unannounced and knew the end had come.

  She mustered all the dignity she could. “Sit down, gentlemen. I’ve been expecting you.”

  Then she picked up the phone and dialed her lawyer.

  STEF’S THOUGHTS gravitated between hope and fear when she was dropped off at the Park Terrace building just before 5:00 p.m. by one of The Guardian’s security teams. She looked up toward the dark canopy of sky over Central Park as if searching to find a star to wish on. Maybe tonight she’d be reunited with the precious baby girl she’d only known for a few hours. It occurred to her that she didn’t even know her little girl’s name. It didn’t matter. She loved her.

  Please God, let her be healthy. Let her have been well taken care of. Give me a chance to be her mommy.

  Stef beamed at the doorman as he wished her good evening. She was halfway across the lobby to the elevators when she suddenly turned on her heel. There were a lot of boutiques in the vicinity. She’d just pop over to Amsterdam Avenue to buy her daughter a gift—something special to show her how much she’d been anticipating their reunion.

  The doorman asked if he could flag her a taxi. Stef told him she was going for a walk.

  Stef was three blocks away, stopped at a corner waiting for the light to change, when she felt the sudden and frightening presence of a weapon pressed into the lower right side of her rib cage.

  “Don’t move, Mrs. Shelton. Don’t scream or you’ll never see your real daughter again,” a man said very calmly in her right ear. “This is your one and only opportunity to negotiate her safe return.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Stef didn’t make a sound. She didn’t know whether it was a handgun or a stun gun pressed into her ribs, but she didn’t care. She’d been separated from her biological daughter for two and a half long years. She was going wherever this man wanted her to go. Who was he? Tony Conklin?