by Jaycee Clark
A window to her right showed the afternoon sun through the cracks.
She screamed again and again. And kept screaming, jerking at her bindings, wishing there was a way, any way out. Maybe someone would hear her.
Please, hear her.
“Please, God,” she moaned. She blinked and looked up. Noticed the bags hanging from the IV stand. Saline. A bottle hung up there as well. She followed the line and noticed it wasn’t hooked up yet. What was it?
She blinked as things still focused and swam. She couldn’t make it out but doubted it was good.
Her baby.
She opened her mouth and screamed again.
“Help! Help!” She screamed and screamed, but no one ever came.
Another pain ripped through her abdomen. Claws tightened along her spine and quickly gripped around her hips, her stomach, even her thighs.
“Oh God.” She whimpered and tried to curl up on her bed.
She knew what she was supposed to do. She was supposed to be breathing and . . .
Her baby . . .
They were going to take her baby . . .
“Please, no, please, please . . . Please!”
Her hands shook and not from pain, she wasn’t really feeling the pain in her wrists anymore. She had to get out of here. Had to.
She jerked on her bindings, working them back and forth against the bolts. Blood slicked her wrists, ran down her palms, twirled around her fingers to drip onto the floor. Her hands were bleeding. She’d broken the skin, she didn’t care. She had no idea how she’d get her legs free if she ever managed to get her arms free.
Something beeped on the small monitor set on the bedside table.
What were the heartbeats supposed to be?
She had no idea. She couldn’t really remember.
The door opened.
“Let’s see how we are progressing, shall we?” Lisa asked, sipping from a Sonic cup before she set it aside, and said something softly to someone else.
Who?
“Go to hell,” she snarled, her voice already raspy.
Lisa only smiled and walked closer. Lisa pulled a syringe out and put it into the back of the IV inserted halfway up Ella’s arm.
“Please,” she said, but it sounded like a whisper.
Lisa merely smiled. “Don’t worry, this will make it all easier . . .”
“Why?” she mumbled. Her vision took a nosedive and the swishing sound grew louder. She blinked.
“I love how quickly the meds work on you,” Lisa said and chuckled. “As to your question . . . Why? My dear, you and your baby were just too good to pass up.”
Ella tried to stay focused, conscious, but things swam in and out, away and close.
She heard someone screaming at some point and realized it was her. Bright flashes of clarity. Dull, cloudy waves rolled over her.
The pain. She focused on the pain . . .
Her baby. She had to stay with it for the baby . . .
But it was so hard . . .
Time passed but it meant nothing, nothing. How much time, she had no idea. The pain crashed into her like the rising tide, relentless. Wave after wave. Taller waves, bigger waves, until she was drowning under the onslaught of pain.
Someone was talking to her.
She couldn’t make out the words.
A sharp sting on her cheek. “Listen to me! Grab your legs and push!”
It was then she realized her hands were no longer bound. She tried, but her arms felt funny, rubbery. Her hands slipped off her legs and someone cursed.
Something wiped at her palms, fingers.
“Now! Grab and push!”
Ella hissed, feeling the tightening muscles across her stomach, back, everywhere, and gripped. The wave of pain rose, bearing her with it, and she pushed. Listened to the voice and screamed.
Pushed and screamed.
How much longer? How long had it been already?
Hours. It had to be hours.
Cloudy . . .
Flash.
Lisa was pacing, running her hands through her hair. “You can do this. You can do this.”
Who was she talking to?
The wave was coming again, coming hard and fast and higher than the others. They all felt higher than the others.
Ella took a deep breath and realized there was an oxygen mask on her nose and mouth.
Ella wanted it over. Just over.
Images flashed again, almost popping in her mind . . .
The pain built, grew to a monster and burned through her. There was no way she would survive this. It wasn’t time. The baby was too early.
“Too early,” she muttered behind the mask.
“What?” Lisa’s voice floated to her. “It’s fine. All the tests show she’s fine. Now push. Push. I see the head.”
Ella bore down. Pain unlike any she’d known before grew and swallowed her, burned through her. And then she heard the baby cry.
A weight on her stomach.
Ella blinked. Blinked again and looked down, saw the bright red hair, the scrunched-up pink face, and cried again. So beautiful. She shoved the oxygen mask down.
Her daughter. Her baby. “Hi,” she whispered brokenly. Her hands shook, her fingers numb as she gently touched her daughter. So soft. She leaned and kissed her daughter on her head. “You are . . .”
Perfect. She was perfect. Little fists pumped jerkily in the air. Pale skin; a blotch marred the inside of her right arm. A birthmark.
Just like her own.
She grinned, even as Lisa massaged her stomach and said, “Come on. Come on. Push!”
She delivered the placenta even as pain ripped inside. She winced and moaned.
“Oh well,” Lisa muttered. At least she thought she did, but she didn’t ask, focused as she was on her daughter
Perfect. “You’re so perfect. You’re just—”
“Not yours,” Lisa’s voice cut through.
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No. She’s mine.”
She tightened her hold on the bare skin of her little girl.
Lisa shook her head and reached for the baby, jerking her from Ella’s grasp.
The baby cried and squirmed as Lisa held her and put her on a scale across the room.
Ella shook her head. “Mine,” she tried to say, but it came out more as a broken whisper. “Mine.” So weak. So . . .
She couldn’t focus again, couldn’t see . . .
Had to get up. Had to . . .
Lisa turned and there was another syringe in her hand.
“No. No. Please no. My baby. My baby. You can’t have her. She’s mine!”
“For a quarter of a million, she’s not yours. Bidders win, they get her.”
She tried to bat the needle away, but her hands shook so badly, her whole body shook so badly.
The baby’s mewls and cries pierced straight into her.
Lisa just said, “Shhh. Shhh . . .” Cool fingers brushed across her forehead. “It’ll all be over soon. If you’re still here when I get back, I promise to make it quick. Your placenta didn’t detach properly, so I doubt it’ll take long. But I do promise to make it quick if you’re still here later. A large dose of heparin because, sweetie, you’re already bleeding, and you’ll just go to sleep, so I doubt I’ll have to.”
She blinked and kept whispering pleas as Lisa stood there fussing with the IVs.
What did she mean? The words jumbled around in her brain, falling like puzzle pieces.
“No . . . No . . .”
Lisa walked over and picked up her baby.
“Please, please. She’s mine. She’s mine.” Her voice was hardly more than a whisper. “You can’t take her. She’s mine.”
The bright scrubs disappeared through the door.
“Noooo! She’s mine! She’s mine!” she tried to yell, though it was little more than a rasp. She tried to get up but couldn’t.
The door shut.
Wake up. Wake up. Wake up! But she didn’t wake
up any more this time than she did the last time. She shook her head, back and forth, back and forth. No. No. No. Her damp hair was sticking to her damp face.
Lying there, she sobbed. Sobbed and sobbed. “No. No. No . . .”
Her eyes fluttered open and she looked up. Up at the IV lines that she followed like clear snakes to the bottles hanging above.
Heparin.
What was that? She looked at the IV catheter where Lisa had plunged the syringe of heparin . . . heparin . . .
What did that do?
And then she knew.
Oh God. She’d bleed to death.
Bleed to death . . . something important Lisa had said . . . something . . . bleeding . . .
The walls faded before they focused sharply.
No one would ever look for her daughter. No one knew.
Quinlan would never know. He’d never know she loved him and wanted the family. Never would know his daughter. He wouldn’t even know to look for their daughter.
Taking a deep breath, she tried to sit up. Her muscles didn’t want to work. Instead she rolled over and pushed herself up with her arms until she swayed, sitting on the side of the bed. The room spun.
She could feel the hot blood draining away, running out of her.
Her wrists were bloody. Not old blood, but new warm blood. She watched as if it were someone else and pulled the IV from her arm with bloody fingers. Liquids went everywhere.
Strong. Have to be strong. Chin up, keep going, as her mother always said.
She had to be strong. Had to get out of here. Had to or all would be lost. No one would find her daughter if she didn’t.
Another sob caught in her throat. She stumbled to the door and pressed against the wall.
The wall was soft . . . squishy.
She blinked.
Soundproof.
She stumbled and fell into the hallway. Slowly, putting her hands on the wall, she stood.
When would they be back? They? She? Her thoughts jumped and swirled.
The hallway wasn’t too long, but took forever. Lights came through three small windows at the top of the front door.
Just had to get to the front door.
Door. For several minutes she fumbled with the knob and the lock. Finally she pulled it open and cold wind blew on her face. Had to get out. Just get out . . .
She stumbled down the stairs and kept going until she fell and the world went quiet . . .
• • •
Ella moaned and opened her eyes . . . Where was she? Dark. It was dark.
She slowly stood and moaned, the world around her tilted and swam . . .
Grass. Grass? Why was she lying on grass?
Where was she? A house or building was in front of her.
Away. Have to run . . .
Run . . . Get away . . .
She stumbled out into the light. Where was she?
Can’t die . . . can’t die . . .
The lights. Too bright. Too dim. Everything in contrast. Where was she? She blinked and tried to focus.
The street blurred before her. She saw the dark river of asphalt. The tall, wavering streetlights. Flickers of lights zoomed to and fro farther down the way.
Where was she?
She stopped, the road cold beneath her bare feet. Her foot hurt. Her ankle hurt.
She raised her hands and saw there was blood on them. Blood and scabs on her mangled wrists. Her shoulders hurt. Her head throbbed. Hell, her whole body seemed to pulse with pain, almost distant and dull, but not quite enough.
The cold wind blew against her legs and she looked down. Something shimmered, dark and glossy, along the bottoms of her legs. Why couldn’t she think?
Something important.
She put her hands on her stomach.
Important . . .
And remembered.
Her stomach.
The baby. The baby . . . Her baby.
The bump was different. Smaller, softer. She pressed her abdomen with her bloody hand splayed on her stomach.
No. No. No.
Images, disjointed and fractured, jumped in her brain.
A baby crying.
Red hair.
A room. A room where she’d been tied down.
They’d taken her baby. Taken it. Taken her sweet little girl.
No. No. No.
She stood there, shaking from cold, from shock. Ice in her veins.
“Ma’am?”
Bright. Too bright. Bright, bright lights.
“Ma’am?”
Slowly, she turned and blinked.
“Baby. My baby,” she whispered.
Someone walked toward her, the image dark against the bright lights. A hand reached for her. “Ma’am . . . I’m . . . help . . .”
A man’s voice, faded and loud, then silent against her eardrums.
“No, please,” she whimpered.
“You’re safe now. You’re safe.” The world tilted and she tried to make sense, but nothing did. Cold. So, so cold. Why was she so cold?
Quinlan. She wanted Quinlan. She’d called him. He was coming to help. Help them. Help her.
“Ma’am. Stay with me . . . stay . . .” A static of radio voices tunneled to her, swirling and merging, fading . . .
“Stay with me. Help is on the way,” shouted down at her.
The sky was dark, then bright. Red. Blue. Red. Blue. Dark. The darkness grew . . .
She tried to pull away. Tried to go. Have to find her. Have to find her.
“Ma’am, what’s your name? Your name?”
A dog barked somewhere and kept barking, jerking her back to here, to now, away from the darkness for a moment. She could feel the darkness getting closer though, whispering to her. Sirens screamed louder and louder.
“Ma’am, calm down. Calm down.” Hands held her and she blinked, finally focusing. A policeman. A cop.
She licked her lips. “Cop. Help. Please.”
“What’s your name?” he asked. Dark hair, dark eyes.
“Ella. Ella.” She grabbed his shirt. “Help me. They took . . .” She tried to take a deep breath, but her chest felt funny, tired. So damned tired. “Baby. They took my baby. My . . . my . . . Please, I need him. Please. They took her.”
“Him? . . . Ella! Stay with me! What’s his name?”
“Quin.” She licked her dry, cracked lips. Dry. So tired. Have to find her. Have to find her baby . . .
“Ella! What’s his name?”
“Quinlan Kinncaid . . . D.C. . . . The baby. Took her. They took her. Please . . .” She wanted Quin. “He’s my . . . my . . .” She tried to swallow; the world unfocused again in bright blues and reds as sirens screamed in her ear. “Husband.”
She saw his lips move, knew he leaned over her, but the darkness grew, a terrible monster, and swallowed her whole.
• • •
Albuquerque, New Mexico, October
Jareaux stacked the files on the side of his desk and glanced toward the window. Late afternoon sun slashed through the panes.
He really hated this damned place. Glancing at his watch, he wondered what he’d do the rest of his Saturday. He’d just wrapped up a major case and already was getting recommendations for it—or so he’d heard.
Thank God, maybe he’d finally get the hell out of this shithole. He hated this assignment. He wanted a coastal town, not a desert-landlocked backward place. Could have been in worse places, he supposed.
The case he’d closed with the crate of kids, that just might get him out of here.
A knock on the edge of his desk drew his attention from the window to the woman leaning against his desk.
“Did you hear, Jareaux?”
Agent Sabino. Smart woman, independent as hell and probably ate nails for breakfast. He found her to be a bitch. She never helped him.
“Hear what?” he asked.
She tilted her head. “Remember that woman that called yesterday, or was it the day before? The one called looking for you? The pregnant one? S
omething about helping you with a case that doesn’t exist? Missing babies and missing mothers.”
He paused in stacking the folders just so and gave her his full attention.
“What are you talking about?”
She smiled. “Ella Ferguson Kinncaid. Just reported missing, came across the fax a minute ago.” She studied him. “Thought you might want to know. Her family is rather connected it seems. Inez will be all over this, I imagine.”
“Why?”
“Because most in the office know Mrs. Kinncaid has called here several times this last week to speak to you. And in case you haven’t figured it out yet, Inez runs a tight ship. Woman claims to be working with you and her story never changed, Inez is going to find out what the hell’s going on. Especially when that woman is a missing pregnant woman whose in-laws go to senators’ Christmas parties and probably share the same country clubs or something.” She smiled again, but it held no humor. “Thought I’d let you know.”
He watched her turn away and walk out the doors. He sighed and raked a hand through his hair.
Fuck.
This was all he needed.
Ella was missing. Woman had been nothing but trouble since he met her. He was not going to let her ruin his career.
Chapter 20
Albuquerque, University Medical Hospital, Saturday
Quinlan didn’t know what the hell to think or do. He’d talked to the police, spoken face-to-face to Detective Hudson and a special agent with the feds. The doctors, the nurse—some forensic nurse. He didn’t remember. Ian had plenty of questions as well, but then he was Ian, didn’t he always have questions?
Hell, Quinlan had plenty of questions as well, and no damned answers.
He sat alone in the waiting room for now. Where the rest were, he didn’t know. Ian, Rori, Aiden, and Brody had descended less than an hour ago. He wondered when the rest of his family would descend. He was under no illusions that they would not. Didn’t matter if he’d rather they stayed away for a bit until he at least knew what the hell was going on.