by Jaycee Clark
The heart monitor didn’t beep, but as he’d learned down in ICU earlier in the day, he was calmed by watching the small square mounted to the IV stand. Slow and steady, then erratic, then steady again. The clear oxygen tube was still under her nose and there were still bags of clear fluids and blood on the metal curled hooks.
He’d passed other rooms. He didn’t remember looking into them. But he’d been in labor and delivery rooms last year when Brayden and Christian’s baby was born, when Gavin and Taylor had a kid. Christian’s room and Taylor’s had been bursting with gifts, and flowers, and stuffed animals. Balloons.
None of that was here.
But then, there was no baby, was there? He should get her some flowers anyway. Just because. Or would that look like a sympathy gift? And why the hell did he give a shit about flowers just now? He huffed out a breath and raked his fingers through is hair.
Where the hell was his child?
He leaned over and took her hand in his. The long pale fingers lay lax in his. At least they were no longer cold, and her cheeks didn’t look as pale to him. He didn’t know where she’d been.
What she’d been doing or who she’d been doing it with.
The police were looking through her life here, and the FBI. He’d talked to a couple of them, but he’d been useless in helping them. The cops acted as if they didn’t believe he hadn’t known about the baby prior to Friday. The feds, though, had stood up for Quinlan just as Brody had jumped in. Apparently the FBI did not believe he had anything to do with the disappearance of his daughter or with his wife’s abduction.
So many thoughts swirled in him. He couldn’t ask her just yet, she was still out.
But they needed to know so much.
He rubbed his fingers over the back of her knuckles. He remembered kissing them before. Remembered the sound of her laughter.
The way her coaxing voice could almost chide. A cutting glance from her eyes. Her lips could tilt just so at one corner, making him want to kiss her. Then make love to her. But then again, he had. They had. More times than he could count, and in some cases remember.
And that was what ate at him the most.
This was why he hated to give up control. Shit always happened when he relaxed and gave up control. Give up control and he almost gets killed, give up control and he ends up married. Give up control and let her have her space . . . and she calls months later claiming to need his help. Because she was pregnant with his baby and didn’t tell him sooner. And now?
Kinncaids and defending.
He put his head on the bed and stared at the floor.
He knew without talking to the man just what his father thought about it all—other than he’d know what to do.
It wouldn’t matter, not really, and it didn’t, that she hadn’t wanted to be married to him. Not if she was pregnant. He should have swallowed his pride and . . .
Kinncaids accepted responsibilities. Period. And it wasn’t even about accepting responsibilities but doing what was right simply because it was right.
How did he not know about the baby?
Why the hell had she not told him about the baby?
Because she didn’t want the marriage. Didn’t want you. Didn’t want the whole package deal.
And he had?
Since when?
Hell, his whole family was shocked as hell and he had no one to blame but himself.
He looked at her pale face, freckles standing out across her nose and cheekbones. Her lashes were still long and curled against her cheeks.
Other than her hair, she didn’t look any different. Shouldn’t she look different to him after so much time, after having a child?
Women were supposed to gain weight, weren’t they? Why then did she look like she’d lost weight. Her wrist bones were even more prominent and fragile than he remembered, even with the bandages. Her arms smaller, her cheekbones more bladed. Her eyes sunken with darker circles, the only real color on her almost chalklike complexion.
Blood loss.
“Please wake up. Please open your eyes.”
He wanted her to open her eyes. Wanted to see them flash at him again, wanted to see her cheeks blush as he knew they could. See her dimpled smile.
She had called, begged for his help. He’d tried, but it hadn’t been enough. Better late than never, he guessed, sighing. None of it mattered right now. Now, he just wanted her to wake up so they could . . . he could . . .
Could what?
Ask her. Ask her . . . talk to her . . . yell at her? And what kind of man did that make him? Hell if he knew, though he figured not a very good one. He laid his forehead on the edge of the bed.
“Please wake up. We need you so you can tell us what happened, so we can find our baby. Please wake up, Ella. Come back to me. Please.”
The minutes ticked by and he paced to the window, staring out at nothing. He was so damned tired he could barely think. Ella moaned.
He whirled around and saw her frowning. Quin hurried back to the bed.
“She’s mine! She’s mine! Noooooo!” Ella mumbled.
Quinlan stood beside her bed. “Ella. Ella, wake up. Ella. You’re safe now. Come on, you’re safe.”
She gasped and opened her eyes. Those eyes. He’d remembered those eyes. Thought about, dreamed about and missed those eyes. Those beautiful blue-green eyes, and yet now they were different. The sparkle was gone. The innocence he’d always seen in them.
For a second, a fleeting second, the fear vanished as she looked at him.
Ella. His Ella looked back.
Blink.
Fear, shock and confusion slid back into her, the blue shifting more to green.
He ran a hand over her hair, wrong hair on her. The lackluster brunette, with a bit of red, was plain and dull against the white pillow. He was used to seeing it shimmer in whatever color she had chosen. Now it was longer and touching her shoulders. He’d noticed the roots looked red to him, as burnished as his own. Why did she cover up such a beautiful color?
He had never thought of her having normal hair. Or he had, in a vague, I wonder what she would look like normal . . . thought. Stupid thought. She looked wrong.
Wrong and lovely.
And still his, by some twist of fate or God’s grace, she was his—at least legally.
But her eyes weren’t bright and full of laughter like he remembered. Her hair—he missed the blue color. Blue or purple or whatever color.
“Hey,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead.
She shivered and he realized her head was damp. Sweat. Cold sweat.
“Bad dream. That’s all it was.” He kept his voice calm, noting how her eyes darted around the room. How she searched, looked with fear fighting hope.
“You’re safe now, Ella.”
A breath shuddered out and she closed her eyes.
Quinlan kept running the tips of his fingers over the edge of her ear as he brushed her hair back. And again.
Her hand moved, and without opening her eyes, she stopped his hand. Her fingers trembled and then she clasped his hand, her fingers tightening.
“Quinlan?” her voice trembled and then she opened her eyes and focused on him. “Quinlan? Is it really you?” she barely whispered. More like a fractured whisper.
“Yes, baby, I’m here.”
Her eyes held his and filled. “How? When? I made it? You made it?”
She tried to swallow, licked her lips.
He sighed and reached over, pouring her some water. He opened the straw, pulled it free and set it in the water, all the while wondering how to . . .
He stared at her for a moment as she took a tentative drink and he wondered what to tell her. What to keep from her. The cops didn’t tell him, the doctor didn’t say anything other than to keep her calm. How the hell did he do that?
How could she not tell him?
Did he even really know her?
Yes. You know her.
“What do you remember?” he asked,
setting the cup on the bedside table. He let go for a moment to lower the rail on the side of her bed before sitting beside her. He reached for her hand again, careful of the bandages around her wrists, and she clasped it. Her brows furrowed and she looked at him, as if trying to remember.
“I called you. I called and we talked.”
Several months too damned late, but he didn’t say that. Instead, he nodded. “You did. You did, surprised the hell out of me. I’d all but given up and . . . Never mind.” He looked down and then met her gaze again. “You’re alive and safe, the other. . .” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”
He tried to understand. Tried to . . .
Her breath came faster, her fingers tightened on his. “Should have told you sooner. So much sooner. But I was scared and stupid. So stupid. But I knew time was running out. They were going to take it. Take it anyway. I told them no. Time and again. No. No. I wanted the baby. I told him they were watching me, but I didn’t have proof. He always wanted proof and I think . . . I think he lied too, but . . .”
Now she was breathing like she’d run a mile and the machine was beeping.
“Calm down. Deep breath . . . Ella. Ella.” Her eyes looked past him. “Ella, look at me. Right here. Look at me.”
He took a deep breath himself, hoping she’d follow. The scents of disinfectant, bleach, and old food hit him. Hospitals. They all smelled the same. He should know, having practically spent half of his childhood in one. “Right here. Eyes on mine. Remember?”
Why he’d said that he had no idea. A memory flashed in his mind, they’d stood in front of Elvis and she’d been nervous. He’d said that then. Her aquamarine eyes had locked onto his. The image burned its way into his brain. Her hair was cotton-candy blue then with pink tips. And then she’d smiled at him, a bright wonderful smile, her eyes flashing with nerves and humor.
There were no nerves now. No humor.
Only confusion. Only weariness and panic.
Panic.
He’d kill someone for putting that look of terrified helplessness in her eyes alone.
Forget whatever else the bastards had done, and they’d sure as hell done plenty.
“Oh, God, Quin. Where is she? She’s so tiny! Where . . .” Her voice was so broken and raspy.
“Ella—”
She interrupted him. “Lisa. I thought she was my friend,” she whispered to him, twisting on the bed, as if to sit up. He held her down, felt her trembling. “I remember. I packed my bag. Was ready to leave to go see you. The car was packed. I didn’t even tell him I was leaving. I didn’t care anymore about helping them, I just had to leave. I called, spoke to another agent, and she acted like she didn’t know what I was talking about. What if he works with them? I had to get to you. I was scared they’d stop me some way. Scared that I couldn’t save her.” Her words tumbled and tripped over each other. Her voice sounded scratchy and hoarse. Like a really bad case of laryngitis.
“Who? Who did you trust?” he asked, hearing people out in the hallway.
“Baby. Our baby, Quin.” Tears filled her eyes, trembled onto the edge before trickling over to slide down her pale cheeks. “They took her. I know it. They took her. She took her. I couldn’t get away! I couldn’t get away! My baby!” she tried to scream, but it came out as a high-pitched wheeze.
“Who, Ella? Who did this to you?” He rubbed her arms, trying to calm her down, seeing her stats skyrocket.
“Lisa. The tea. Drugged the tea at my house, I think. The tea on the couch. Lisa.” She started to strain, her hands shaking in his.
The door opened and a nurse came in, the federal agent behind the nurse.
“Lisa who?”
“Hammerstein. Lisa . . . The—the bed. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t move!”
“Shhh. Enough. Enough, Ella.” He picked up her trembling fingers, touched her bandaged wrists.
The nurse was checking the stats on the monitor and shaking her head as alarms began to sound.
“Ella, Ella, look at me,” the agent said from beside the bed.
She never looked away from his own eyes, never glancing to see the agent.
“My baby. I want . . . Couldn’t get away. Tied down. The baby was coming. I screamed and screamed and screamed and no one came.” Her voice raked his nerves raw even before the words tumbled and righted into place. “Why didn’t anyone help me? What . . .” Tears streamed down her face and her breaths came in gasps. “Where is she? What did they do to her? A baby. Our baby girl. Red hair. She has red hair. Oh God . . . Oh God, Quin . . . Quin . . .” Her face crumpled and she tried to scream again, arching and twisting to sit up. Her broken voice made his chest tight. Her words . . . “I want my baby! I want . . .” Her broken voice.
He pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her. “I know . . . I know . . .” Tears filled his eyes.
The agent said something else, and he felt Ella tense at the man’s voice.
“I need to sedate her,” the nurse said.
“Not yet,” the agent snapped.
“I have my own orders, sir, and you shouldn’t even be in here,” the nurse shot back.
“Ella,” the man said.
He watched the nurse put the syringe into the IV and depress it. Ella sobbed and screamed broken wheezing screams against his chest.
“I want my baby. I want my baby . . .”
“It’ll be okay, love.” How, he had no idea. He was so confused and worried and scared and pissed. But none of that helped them now.
“We’ll find her,” he whispered into her hair, gently rocking her. “We’ll find her. I swear it.”
He felt her relax against him, the tension easing out of her.
“I needed to talk to her!” the agent said, leaning into the nurse.
She propped her hands on her hips. “I get that, but I’m not going to compromise her health and the doctor does not want her more stressed. Her blood pressure is still too high.”
The doctor had walked in at some point and checked the chart, the monitor, his eyes meeting Quin’s as the agent and nurse argued. The nurse stood there with the doctor. “She’s to be kept calm.”
Quin nodded, rubbing his hand up and down her back. “She had a nightmare and woke up. She doesn’t remember much but . . .”
“Clearly knows they took her baby. Poor thing,” the nurse said as she helped ease Ella back down.
Quinlan didn’t want to let her go.
He sat back in the chair for a moment while the doctor checked her vitals and whispered in the medical jargon that was familiar to him, yet still meaningless.
The doctor gave him another look and then the room was quiet again.
He grabbed a tissue and gently wiped her cheeks, her eyes.
The agent rattled the change in his pocket. “Damn it,” he muttered. “What exactly did she say?”
“She didn’t say much, but she said she, referred to a woman she trusted . . . Lisa, I think. Sounded like maybe Lisa drugged her tea. Something about tea on the couch and being packed to go . . . Lisa Hammerstein.” He stopped.
“Okay, good. Packed to go where?”
He looked up and met the man’s gray eyes, started to say how she didn’t trust a man she was working with, how she’d spoken to another agent. But he didn’t. Instead he said, “She was packed to come to me when she called. I told her to stay, to wait. I could be out here in about four to five hours and I was. I didn’t want her traveling after . . . after she told me.”
The agent nodded, and only stood there staring at Ella. He’d also called her Ella.
“Lisa. That helps, and her house? She said her house?”
“No, I don’t think so. She said Lisa, talked about drugged tea and being packed to leave. Mostly . . .” He sighed and traced her cheekbone with his finger. “She cried for the baby. Our baby girl. Does any of that mean anything to you?”
The man’s phone vibrated and he checked the ID. “I’ll be back,” the agent said and left.
Quin
lan stared after him and then he hurried to the door. He wanted answers, damn it. The doctor was in the hall clicking information into a computer beside her room, but no Agent Jareaux. Where the hell did he go?
“Yes?” Dr. Forrester asked.
Quinlan swallowed. “Her voice. Her voice is wrong, hoarse like someone with laryngitis or something.”
The doctor just looked at him and took a deep breath.
Quinlan hurried on, “She said she screamed and screamed for help but no one . . .”
The doctor nodded. “Makes sense.” He shook his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what all she went through. Frankly, she may never remember what all she went through, and if she screamed herself hoarse and voiceless, maybe that’s a good thing, Mr. Kinncaid.”
Quinlan couldn’t look away from him and he nodded. Then he nodded again before he turned and went back to Ella. He took her hand and sat back down.
He continued to hold her hand, rubbing the back of it.
“Why? Ella,” he whispered on an exhale. “Why didn’t you call me months ago? Just pick up the phone and call me? Ella, why didn’t you . . . God, Ella, how could you be that cruel?” He rubbed his face with his free hand.
No answer came.
He heard her words again from their conversation Friday, and her words from earlier. So many words practically choking on them, stumbling, and tripping.
She twitched, her hand fisting in his as her head shook back and forth on the pillow.
“You’re safe now, Ella,” he said softly. “You’re safe with me, and this time I’ll damn well make sure you stay that way.”
He pulled the blanket up, tucking her arms under it—her bruised arms. So many bruises, some dark already, others just red. Her wrists were probably a mangled mess since he could see the swelling and the bruises above and below the bandages. Bruises and cuts, blood loss. The hemorrhaging.
. . . you’d be speaking to the medical examiner . . .
A shiver danced down his spine.
He carefully put her hands beneath the covers, not wanting to mess up the bandages or IVs.
“I almost lost you.” Another shiver iced his stomach. “I thought I had lost you, sort of, you know. And that doesn’t matter right now, does it?” he asked, though he didn’t expect an answer. “But this . . . this is too dammed real. My brothers, they all had to worry about wives and girlfriends getting hurt. I thought I would not have to worry about all that, you know? Yeah, you do, I remember that conversation as we walked to Magnolia Grill one night. But I did worry. I do worry. I worried about you, all the damned time. What you were doing, who you were with, if you needed anything, if you were safe.” He blew out a breath and watched her face, lax now again that the sedatives swam through her system. “If you were safe. I told myself that of course you were, or I would know. Somehow I’d know if you weren’t. How, I have no idea. Stupid, I guess. I should have found you, at least made sure you were all right.”