by Rita Herron
“So you’re not giving up then?” Lindsey asked, knowing full well her heart lay in her eyes.
“No.” His fingers wiped away a tear she didn’t even realize she’d shed. “You have to trust me, Lindsey. I’ll find our son, just give me time.”
She hesitated. Did she trust him?
With her son’s life, yes.
With her heart, no.
AN HOUR LATER Gavin parked in Lindsey’s driveway but he insisted Lindsey stay in the car while he checked her house. He rushed through the rooms, searching for signs of an intruder, even checked the gas line to make certain no one had tampered with it again. Lindsey had obviously felt safe here when she’d first moved to Maple Hollow, had thought this little cabin would be the perfect place to raise their baby. Had she been wrong in her assessment of the town?
“Everything looks okay,” he said, as he opened her car door. She nodded, looking wary and drained as she climbed from the car. He’d suggested they stop to eat, but insisted on cooking dinner at home, so he helped her carry bags of groceries to the house. Cooking seemed to relieve her tension, so he didn’t argue. In the last three weeks he could count on one hand the number of meals he’d consumed that had been truly edible. And Lindsey made the best country fried steak he’d ever tasted.
Cooking was only one of the little things about her he had missed. Definitely not the most important. The little stolen kisses and tender touches she’d shared with him that one night had gotten under his thick skin in a way the sex hadn’t. And the sex had been phenomenal.
“I’m going to make some calls while you start dinner,” Gavin said, “that is, unless you need some help.”
“Go ahead, I need to stay busy.” She gestured toward her bedroom. “You can call from my room if you want. It’ll be a little quieter.”
And he’d be away from her. Her unspoken message reverberated loud and clear.
He nodded, then stepped into the bedroom and called his partner Simon Durango, but got his voice mail so he left a message. Exhausted, he leaned back and studied the modest furnishings. An antique sleigh bed, a country quilt in blue and yellow, gingham curtains, an oak dresser and chest. Simple but clean, with little touches of Lindsey scattered all through the room. A cross-stitched country sampler. A rag doll. A stool in the shape of a calico cat. Comfortable, homey—a warm haven to raise a child. His gut tightened at the thought. He glanced toward the hallway and the closed door to the nursery and suddenly had the overwhelming urge to pick the lock and go inside.
LINDSEY BREADED the steak and dropped it into the hot oil, then eased a pan of biscuits in the oven. Memories of other nights Gavin had spent protecting her, the nights she’d cooked for him, exploded painfully in her mind. And that last night, the evening they’d made a baby…
She had to forget those times.
Remember the awkward morning after. The times he refused your phone calls. The cold way he sent you out of his life that day at the courthouse.
Lindsey saw Gavin stalk out of the bedroom, stop in the hallway and stare at the nursery door. She’d locked it the morning she’d returned from the hospital and hadn’t been able to go back inside since. The counselor had suggested she pack up all the baby things, put them away, out of sight. And she’d told herself she would one day. Only that day hadn’t arrived. Was Gavin going to ask her to see the room?
The telephone rang and Lindsey frowned, wondering if it were her anonymous caller. Gavin crossed the short distance from the hallway to the kitchen, his gaze steady as he watched her pick up the receiver.
“Hello.”
“Lindsey, darling, are you all right?”
It’s my mother, she mouthed to Gavin. Gavin nodded, poured himself some iced tea. “Yes, Mom, I’m okay.”
“You didn’t call at the usual time last night.”
Lindsey winced. Since her mom had lost her vision and moved into the assisted care facility few months ago, she’d settled into a predictable pattern. Lindsey always called on Tuesday and Thursday nights at seven, on Sundays at six. If she didn’t, her mother worried. “Sorry, Mom. I drove to Raleigh yesterday and I was so exhausted when I got back I forgot to check my messages.”
“You told Gavin?”
“Yes, he’s here now.”
Her mother sighed audibly. “Well, thank God. I know how difficult it was for you to accept his help, sweetheart, but I don’t think you should suffer through this all alone.”
“He’s going to help me search for my baby, nothing more, Mother.”
Her mother remained quiet for several long seconds. She’d never approved of Lindsey’s intentions to raise the baby alone. Finally Lindsey heard a sniffle. “I hope you’re right about the baby being alive, honey. I hate to see you get your hopes up for nothing.”
Lindsey bit her tongue, the familiar helplessness building inside again. She didn’t want to give her mother false hopes either, so she shifted the conversation to her mother’s activities. Gavin found the dishes and set the table, obviously making himself at home.
As she said goodbye to her mother, she tried not to think about how natural it felt for Gavin to be in her house, and how it would feel when he left. Her gaze strayed to the mail and a familiar blue envelope drew her eye—identical to the one that had held the autopsy report. Lindsey tore the envelope open and gasped. A small card with a baby’s footprint had been placed inside. Her heart burst into a million pieces—the name beside the tiny blue footprint read Cory Adam Payne.
Chapter Seven
Gavin’s stomach knotted as he stared at the tiny blue footprint. For the first time since he’d heard he had a son, the cold reality of his loss hit him—he hadn’t been able to share Lindsey’s pregnancy, hadn’t felt his son kick in her stomach, hadn’t seen his little body emerge, hadn’t even seen a picture of him. But something about the outline of that small foot, the imprint of five little toes, especially that fourth little crooked one like his own, twisted his insides into a mass of pain. And anger.
He wanted to hold his little boy, feel his baby soft skin, smell that sweet baby powder, tickle his little toes. The footprint might not prove to the sheriff that something sinister had happened with his baby but in his mind, Gavin knew this footprint belonged to his son. The little imperfection had been a long-standing joke, a family characteristic to be teased about in the McCord family, one of the first things his own mother had said she’d looked for when he was born.
With this kind of evidence, evidence so personal in his hand, how could he not know his son was out there? Who the hell had taken him? Were the notes and cards intended to taunt Lindsey or to inform her that her baby was alive?
Lost in his own turmoil, he barely noticed Lindsey stagger, but he grabbed her just as she collapsed into the chair. Her long slender hands were trembling, and those velvety eyes of hers, normally like a beacon of light in the darkness, now glistened with te anguish.
“I…I don’t understand why someone is doing this, Gavin.” She traced her finger over the outline of the baby’s foot, then lifted her gaze to meet his. “He’s just an innocent little baby, all I wanted was to hold him…to take care of my son.”
He knelt beside her and lay his hand on her shoulder, squeezing her gently to reassure her she wasn’t alone now. She collapsed into his arms, her soft sobs tearing his heart in two. His own grief almost overwhelmed him, but he soothed her with soft, meaningless words of comfort, promises he hoped he’d be able to keep. His heart clenching, he glanced at the empty bassinet in the den. He might never get to touch that little foot, hold his son, teach him to play ball…
Lindsey surprised him then by turning and wiping at her tears, then tenderly cupping his face with her hands. Her voice resonated, full of strength and determination, “I know you’re going to find our baby, Gavin. Whatever wrong there is between us, I’m glad you’re here. I have faith you’ll bring him home.”
He could say nothing, could do nothing but stare into her shining, hope-filled eyes, and draw st
rength from her words. And slowly, as he allowed her to stroke the tension from his jaw, he began to climb out of the despair that had momentarily trapped him in its dark hole.
They sat for a long time, simply pulling together in the silence. The silence… It was so quiet Gavin shuddered. He could almost hear a baby’s cry.
He suddenly stood, acutely aware he’d allowed his emotions to rise to the surface and interfere with his detective training. He had to report the card, had to convince the police to put out an APB on that nurse, had to explore every possibility.
As if Lindsey realized the distance he’d placed between them, she stood and silently put the food on the table. Grateful for her understanding, he grabbed the phone and called Forbes. With this latest note added to the knowledge that the gas leak in Lindsey’s house hadn’t been accidental, the sheriff would have to cooperate. But again, Forbes wasn’t in the office so he tried his partner, hoping he’d be in this time.
“Hey, McCord, I was getting ready to call you.”
“Good.” Gavin relayed the little he’d learned from his conversations with the doctor and lawyer, then explained about Andy and his suspicions. “Would you check out Dr. Cross from the Maple Hollow Clinic?”
“Anyone else?”
“Yeah, Christopher Little, attorney-at-law. I think he’s on the up and up but it won’t hurt to investigate.”
“Right. How’s Lindsey holding up?”
“She’s amazing,” Gavin said, his gaze drawn to the closed doorway in the hall. His baby’s room. “Especially under the circumstances.”
“Does her story sound feasible?”
Gavin rubbed his chin in thought. “At first, it sounded bizarre but the more I check into things, I’m beginning to wonder. Lindsey claims another woman delivered the same night she gave birth, but the doctor denies the woman even exists. And the nurse who assisted is .”
“Sounds suspicious. What’s the doctor’s take?”
“Cross isn’t the country bumpkin doctor I expected. He hinted Lindsey was medicated heavily due to complications during the delivery, that she needs to accept her loss and move on. Oh, and someone tampered with the gas line in Lindsey’s house last night. She almost died.”
“Jesus, poor Lindsey. Do you think there’s a possibility she’s right, that the baby is alive?”
Did he? After seeing the footprint… “Yes.”
Silence descended across the line. “The baby’s your son, isn’t he, McCord?”
Gavin had to swallow before he could reply. “Yeah.”
“Whew.” Simon heaved a sigh. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, and I have to find him.” Gavin explained about the discrepancy with the blood types, the footprint and the baby’s crooked toe.
“The print could belong to another baby,” Simon said.
“Not likely, the toe, it’s…” He paused, his voice cracking. “It’s identical to mine, fourth toe on each foot, it’s a McCord trait. But send the copy to the lab to be analyzed anyway.”
“You ready to call in the FBI?”
“Not yet—they’ll take over and I want this case myself.”
Simon hesitated, worry evident in his voice when he spoke, “Look, buddy, you may be too close—”
“I’m staying in,” Gavin said, cutting off any further argument. “But you do have a couple of friends who are ex-agents, don’t you? Maybe we could use their help.”
“Yeah, Barnes and Jernigan. I’ll call them right away.”
“Thanks, Durango. I knew I could count on you.”
“Yeah, well, no big deal. Anyone else you want me to check out?”
“Focus on finding that nurse Janet Quinn. She took a leave of absence the day after Lindsey gave birth.” Cold nagging worry seeped into Gavin’s veins again. “And check out Jeff Faulkner and Danny Swain. Make sure they’re both still locked up tight. Swain threatened revenge at his trial.”
“You think one of them could be involved?”
“I don’t know, but I have to consider all angles. Both of them hated my guts. Lindsey was outside the courtroom the day of Swain’s sentencing. He could have seen her.” His mind ticked back to that day, recalling the way he’d pushed Lindsey out of his life when she’d come to reveal her secret. Swain was just the type to get revenge by using someone Gavin lov…cared about. “Forensics turn up anything on that note?”
“Not yet. I did find out the Faulkners hired a P.I. to watch Lindsey.”
“So the Faulkners might have known about the baby.” Gavin rubb of his neck. “Good work, partner. Give me the P.I.’s number. I want to talk to him myself.”
Simon recited the number and Gavin scribbled it in his notepad.
“Faulkner might think the baby is his,” Simon said.
“Yeah, but Lindsey said he was adamant about not wanting children.”
“Maybe he set up a kidnapping for revenge.”
Or to get rid of the child. Gavin couldn’t even acknowledge the possibility. “Maybe, but he’d need help. And I’m not sure how he’d benefit without letting Lindsey know he had her child. Kidnapping sure as hell wouldn’t help him with parole either.”
“I see your point. Any other angles?”
“While you’re at it, check and see if Dwight Johnson is still in town. He blames me for his son’s death. I keep thinking about that ‘eye for an eye’ note.”
“You didn’t cause the teen to die, McCord. You told the boy to get out of there.”
“Yeah, well, warning him wasn’t enough.” Gavin paused, willing the memories away. “Just check him out, will you?”
Simon agreed and Gavin added, “Thanks, I’ll convince Forbes to issue an APB on the Quinn woman.”
“You know we could have the grave exhumed,” Simon suggested.
Gavin’s throat closed. “I don’t think Lindsey would want to go that route yet, but you can work on the court order just in case we need to push it through.”
Simon seemed to understand and hung up without arguing. Gavin tried the P.I. the Faulkners had hired, cursing at the voice mail. He left a message, saying it was urgent the man return his call, then hung up.
An image of the cemetery where the Johnson boy lay buried surged through his mind, then the small plot where Lindsey had lain the flowers over his baby’s grave. No, he wasn’t ready to give up yet, not when he had hopes his son was alive.
LINDSEY STIRRED her fork around in her mashed potatoes and tried to eat but her appetite had vanished. Forcing food down her throat seemed aimless. Gavin didn’t have a problem. Of course, she remembered he’d always had a hearty appetite.
“How much did he weigh?” Gavin asked.
Lindsey jerked her head up, his question catching her off guard. “What?”
Gavin fisted his big hand around the tablecloth. “How much did our son weigh?”
Lindsey met his gaze, struck by the intensity in his dark eyes. “Eight pounds, eleven ounces.”
His dark eyebrow shot up. “And he was six weeks early?”
“You’re a big man, Gavin. The doctor said he would have been close to eleven pounds if I’d carried him to term.” Her reply brought another strange tense silence between the
He glanced toward the spare bedroom. “Did you decorate that room for him?”
“Yes, I painted it yellow…like the sunshine.” She closed her eyes, praying he wouldn’t ask to see the room. Thankfully, the phone rang, saving her the worry. They both stared at the machine for several seconds before Lindsey finally picked it up. When the sheriff asked for Gavin, she pushed the phone in his hand and began to clear the table.
As she scrubbed the dishes vigorously, Gavin and Sheriff Forbes engaged in a shouting match. Judging from the one-sided conversation, Forbes obviously didn’t want to go along with the APB on Janet Quinn. Either the sheriff was hiding something or he simply didn’t want the feds infiltrating his safe haven of a little town.
Thank God Gavin had taken action. Knowing she didn’t have to fight this ba
ttle alone eased some of the burden. As soon as she wiped the counter, she turned to him.
“You finally convinced Forbes to look for Janet?”
He nodded and folded his arms across his chest.
She took the bottle of pills the doctor had given her and shook one into her hand. “I’m going to lie down.”
“What are you taking?”
“Some vitamins the doctor ordered. I guess I let myself get run down after the delivery.”
“Are you all right, Linds?” he asked in a low, gravelly voice.
Not trusting her voice to speak, she simply nodded.
His dark gaze roamed over her, and she fought the impulse to run. Not looking at him was almost as difficult as resisting the urge to run into his arms.
“You’ll be okay on the sofa?”
“I’ve slept in worse places.”
He meant his assignments, a reminder of the life he lived away from her. The reason she’d gone to him this time. Not for love or because he was the father of her baby, because he was a detective.
“I’ll see you in the morning then. And Gavin…”
“Huh?”
“Thanks.”
He nodded, his expression tight as she tried to slip by him. He caught her arm, pulling her against him so his breath whispered against her cheek. The scent of his soap and masculine smell invaded her senses, his rock hard body rippling with muscles, full of strength and power, something she desperately needed. The long strands of his hair brushed his collar, his dark gaze troubled, concerned, determined. Full of that dark hunger that had once enticed her into his arms. Into his bed.
But as she stared into his eyes, she saw her son, the dark brown irises, the sharp jawbone, the square face, the small cleft in his chin. Her heart broke all over again. Her baby even shared that little crooked toe, a McCord trait.
In her son, she would have always carried a part of Gavin with her. Now…
“If you need me tonight, you know where I’ll be,” he said in a husky voice