Saving His Son

by Rita Herron

  At first glance, the clinic’s files seemed to be in order although he could have hidden costs or padded bills. He didn’t find any large payments indicating foul play. Andy limped over to the bulletin board, studying the baby pictures on the wall.

  Gavin typed in the word adoptions, but a password protected the files and he didn’t have time to hack through it. On a hunch, he scrolled for at-risk deliveries, women seeking fertility treatment. A list of three women over the past two years. Delores Beechum, Kim Scotsdale, Janice Hopkins. Maybe one of them had become so desperate to have a baby they’d bought Lindsey’s. But why would Cross have agreed?

  He quickly scanned each of their files. The Beechum woman had finally conceived, the Scotsdale woman had moved to Georgia two months ago, and the Hopkins woman had adopted a baby in January. A dead end there.

  On a hunch, he searched for any women who might have lost babies other than Candy Sue but came up empty. So an adoption gone awry hadn’t been the motive.

  Andy coughed and Gavin saw him smiling at the photos, obviously enchanted with the infant pictures. Unfortunately, Gavin found zilch concerning Lindsey, except for a copy of the autopsy report she had shown him. He did, however, find a file on Candy Sue, confirming her story. The autopsy report was identical to the one Lindsey had received. With his impeccable reputation, Cross hadn’t banked on anyone questioning his files.

  Pretty damn smart. But frustrating as hell.

  He tried a different file and stared at the screen in shock. It was a description of Lindsey’s delivery, of the complications, a report on his baby’s statistics. Payne Baby—boy. Eight pounds eleven ounces. Twenty-one inches long. Apgar score—eight. The copy of the footprint—the baby’s little crooked toe.

  All the information detailed a healthy baby—no indication of a heart condition. There was also no reference to what had happened following the birth. Damn.

  He printed the information, then quickly checked the employee’s files, specifically looking for anything on Swain’s sister and the missing nurse Quinn. Records showed a pretty slow turnover. Wanda Swain had worked at the clinic on the weekends but she’d married and transferred to a hospital in Seattle before Lindsey delivered. Too far for her to have dropped in to help her brother take the baby.

  Then he found notations on Janet Quinn. A remarkable record, glowing comments—but she’d suddenly resigned. No forwarding address. So, the doctor ha about this, too—the Quinn woman hadn’t taken a vacation, she had quit.

  Andy mumbled something and he glanced up and saw him studying the photos again. “Three-thirty-four, Samson baby girl. Five-eighty-one, Grogan baby boy…”

  Gavin froze, an idea occurring to him. “Andy, are all those photos numbered?”

  The man turned with a huge grin. “Yeah, they come from Doc’s p-picture file.”

  “His picture file?”

  Andy’s head bobbed up and down. “I like to look at the pictures of the b-babies.”

  “Cross keeps a photo of every baby he delivers?”

  Andy nodded again and pointed to the computer. “I seen it in there one time.”

  “Can you show me how to access it?”

  “I don’t know n-nothing about computers. It was th-there when I came in one day.”

  Gavin bit down on his lip and began to scan the program again, finally locating the file. Another click and a dozen photos filled the screen, each numbered and dated. He scrolled the system until he found the date of Lindsey’s delivery. His son’s birth.

  His heart clenched at the picture that suddenly appeared on the screen. His baby boy. A tiny round face, a button nose, square chin, patches of fine, dark hair. Emotions overwhelmed him. As much as Lindsey had talked about their son, he hadn’t seemed real until this moment.

  Suddenly Andy was shaking his shoulder. “I…th-think someone’s coming.”

  Gavin hit the Print button, tapping his foot while he waited. Finally the machine spit out the paper and he grabbed the printed picture and stuffed it in his shirt. He’d get it to Simon and have him put it through the database, flash it on every TV screen in the United States. They would find his son. And he’d have the grave exhumed to make certain his child wasn’t inside. His cell phone chirped and he heard footsteps at the door to the office.

  Andy’s face registered panic. “Get me out of here.”

  Gavin silenced his phone with a flick of his thumb, catching Simon’s number and making a mental note to return the call. Andy ushered him through a side door, then a narrow hallway leading outside.

  “Thanks, Andy,” he said when he’d made it to his car.

  “Y-you’re welcome. T-take care of Miss Lindsey.”

  “I will.” He patted Andy’s arm. “You were a big help, Andy. I’ll have Lindsey bring her baby to see you once we find him.”

  Andy’s smile lit up his eyes. “I…I like babies.”

  “I know. And I’m glad you do.” Gavin said goodbye, climbed in his car, phoned his partner and reported his findings.

  “Check out Wanda Swain, now it’s Wanda Bridges—she’s at the university hospital in Seattle. And I’m faxing you a picture I want on every TV news show possible. Send it through the FBI’s database, too.”

  “What picture?”

  “A picture of my son.”

  Simon cleared his throat. “Will do. We finally found that address for Johnson and his wife.”

  Gavin cranked his engine and headed toward a copy shop to fax the photo, then he’d go on to the mountains. And on his way, he’d call Lindsey and tell her about the photo.

  “SWING LOW, SWEET CHARIOT, coming for to carry me home.”

  He watched in awe as once again his new little son turned big brown eyes up to her face. The baby’s cries wilted at the sound of her soft voice, soothing, humming out famous lines of lullabies from times gone by. Good times. Family times.

  No one knew how she had suffered. How difficult it had been for her to conceive in the first place. The fertility treatments. The miscarriages. The painful disappointment over losing another pregnancy.

  But soon this little one would grow and fill the house with love and laughter. A boisterous boy wielding sticks and stones and toy trucks. Climbing trees and scraping knees.

  He’d buy him a toy train set for Christmas and watch his eyes light up as the engine chugged and clanked around the Christmas tree. Life would once again be filled with the musical sound of children. And she would be so happy, baking cookies and pies and teasing the kids with her funny stories. She would be vibrant and alive. Just as she’d once been when their other son had been the apple of her eye.

  She’d already begun to change, he could see the tiny differences in her—all because of their new little son. No, he couldn’t let the Payne woman take him back now. And he wouldn’t let the boss have him, either.

  He paced the old wooden porch, the weathered steps creaking as he shifted his weight back and forth and stared at the night sky. The sounds of the forest slivered around him, the brisk, cool mountain air clean and intoxicating. That damn detective and the Payne woman just wouldn’t stop their snooping.

  They had to die.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “You found a picture of our baby?” Lindsey’s pulse clamored in her throat.

  “Yes, in Cross’s files,” Gavin said, excitement filling his voice. “He keeps a photo of every child he delivers. It’s amazing. Your friend, Andy, gave me the idea to check when he was looking at the pictures on Cross’s walls.”

  Lindsey twisted the phone cord in her hands. “What does he look like, Mac?”

  “He’s beautiful,” Gavin said a little gruffly. “He…he has dark hair like mine and this button nose and…”

  Lindsey smiled at the emotions in Gavin’s voice. “He looks like you, doesn’t he?“I don’t know. It’s hard to tell, he’s sleeping so I can’t see his eyes and he’s all wrapped up in this blue blanket, but his little fists are sticking out and he looks tough and strong, like a little f
ighter.”

  Lindsey closed her eyes and lay her head back, trying to imagine her infant’s face as Gavin described the photo. Wondering how much he had already changed. “He does look like you, Mac. He has your strong chin. And your mouth…I remember now.”

  “We’ll find him, Linds,” Gavin said in a low voice. “I swear to you I won’t stop until I bring him home and put him back in your arms.”

  Tears trickled from Lindsey’s eyes at the fierce determination in Gavin’s voice. No wonder she loved this man so much. “I know, Mac. I have faith in you.”

  He hesitated for a moment, then cleared his throat. “I sent the picture to Simon. They’ll probably run it on the news tonight and it’s gone into the FBI database so hopefully we’ll get some real leads.”

  “Are you on your way now? I want to see the picture.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can. I have one stop to make before I can get there.”

  “Be careful, Mac.”

  “I will.” He hesitated again, his voice husky. “Take care of yourself, Linds. I’ll see you soon.”

  And maybe soon he’d be bringing her baby back to her.

  Lindsey heard the silent promise and swallowed back more tears. When Gavin said goodbye, she dialed her mother to tell her about the picture.

  A CHILL crept over Gavin as he passed Graveyard Falls and slowly wound around the Blue Ridge Parkway. The mere name of the falls gave him the creeps but certainly didn’t deter the tourists, only intrigued them to flock to the site and probe for morbid stories related to its origin. Sightseers parked along the curb, drifting toward the guardrail to photograph the majestic view, some lingering to walk the historic trails, others monitoring their little ones so they didn’t fall down the steep incline. A little boy wearing a baseball cap and overalls clung to his mother’s hand as they stooped to examine a turtle creeping along the side of the road. An image of his own son exploring the small animal flashed into Gavin’s mind. His stomach knotted.

  Was he getting close to finding him? Would he be able to carry his son back to the hospital and place him in Lindsey’s arms today? On the heels of his excitement, sprang turmoil. Would he be able to walk away when he did?

  The narrow, secluded drive leading to the Johnson’s cabin seemed to go on forever. Heavy underbrush and weeds marred the dirt path, gravel spewing beneath the tires. Seconds later, a small log cabin came into view, the front porch partially sagging and weathered, an ancient ringer-type washer leaning against the splintered door-frame.

  Definitely a hideaway. For Johnson and who else?

  He pulled the car to a stop several hundred feet from the front, scanning the place for signs of life. A baby stroller m

  A dented white van jutted out from under a makeshift carport built of wood covered with a green plastic tarp. No plates. Tension knifed through his tight muscles as he eased the car up the embankment and parked behind the van, blocking its way out. Opening and closing his door without making noise proved to be a challenge. He spotchecked the van for a carseat but found nothing.

  As he climbed the steps he spotted a brown and white flop-eared mutt sprawled on the third step. The mangy animal lifted his head, checked him out, then flopped back down with a low growl. Gavin leaned over to pet him, muttering a calming word just as the screen door screeched open.

  Dwight Johnson, wearing faded jeans and a flannel shirt, his thinning brown hair swept back to cover his bald spot, appeared in the doorway shouldering a rifle. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I came to talk to you and your wife—”

  “We don’t want to talk to you.” He raised the rifle and aimed it at Gavin’s chest, his bony arms amazingly steady. “Now go on your way, Mr. McCord. You’ve already caused us enough heartache.”

  The bitterness in the man’s voice ate at Gavin. Had he actually thought the man’s anger might have abated?

  “Mr. Johnson, please listen for a moment. You can’t imagine how sorry I am about what happened to Rodney.”

  “Sorry don’t bring him back, does it?”

  Gavin scrubbed a hand over his neck. “No, but I really was trying to help him.” Gavin inched up the steps. He could hear the man’s wife singing softly, some kind of lullaby. “I’d like to speak to your wife. Please let me come in and talk to her. I want to tell her how sorry I am.”

  The gun wobbled as Johnson brushed a gnat away from his beard. “I don’t want you to upset her. She’s just now starting to act like herself.”

  “Maybe there’s something I can tell her about Rodney that will make her feel better.”

  The old man frowned, stewed over Gavin’s intimidating size for a minute, then nudged open the door. “You’ve got five minutes. And don’t go badmouthing my boy.”

  Gavin nodded as the old man allowed him inside the dark cabin. The smell of dank wet wood and cigarettes was almost stifling and he had to blink to focus in the dim lighting. Exposed beams, a homemade afghan spread on a faded brown couch, an antique cradle, although it appeared unused. A high chair sat in the corner of the kitchen area, a few plastic toys scattered on the braided rug. A baby had definitely been here.

  He tempered his shocked reaction when he saw the thin woman sitting in an oak rocker in front of a stone fireplace, rocking back and forth, humming a lullaby, her arms cradling something swathed in a blanket.

  The air collected in his throat in a painful surge.

  Was she holding his child?

  “Mrs. Johnson?”

  She turned, her eyes widening when she spotted him, a little girl pressed to her chest.

  Disappointmentoned in his chest.

  “Shh,” she whispered. “I just got Cindy to sleep. She’s had a bad cold.”

  He nodded. “Whose little girl?”

  “This lady I met at the counseling center. I’m babysitting her children while she works.” She gestured toward the den where a small boy played with a stack of wooden blocks. “I enjoy keeping the two of them. And I feel like I’m helping her. She’s a single mother and can’t afford to miss work.”

  “Sounds like the arrangement is good for both of you.”

  A tiny smile curved her mouth as she stroked the little girl’s back. “They can’t ever take Rodney’s place, but it feels good to have little ones around again. The place has been so quiet lately.”

  “I can understand that,” he said, thinking about the empty bassinet at Lindsey’s house. He surveyed the tiny cabin, wondering if it was possible they had his baby hidden in a back room. But a quick glance through the open doors indicated the rooms were empty. And Johnson wouldn’t let him in if he was holding the baby here.

  His apology came slow and steady. “I’m so sorry about Rodney, Mrs. Johnson. I really cared about your son and wanted to help him. I had no idea Rodney was going to follow me to that alley.” He paused and cleared his throat. “I’d do anything to change that day, Ma’am, to bring him back to you.”

  Her glazed, anguished eyes haunted him.

  “You had no business making him think you was going to help him, then letting him get killed,” Mr. Johnson said.

  Gavin’s stomach clenched as guilt resurfaced. This man lived to blame him. It was probably useless to try to explain, but the sight of the woman cradling the child reminded him of Lindsey and his own son.

  “I sincerely wanted to help him, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, otherwise I wouldn’t have joined the Big Brother program. Rodney was a good boy at heart. He had a lot of courage.”

  A small flicker of emotion crossed Mrs. Johnson’s face. She reached for his hand and actually cradled it in her own. “He was a good boy, my Rodney, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes, Ma’am, he was.”

  “He was the light of my eyes.” She smiled sadly. “You know, Mr. McCord, nothing is as important as your family. You don’t realize that sometimes until they’re gone.”

  Gavin thought of his own son. Of Lindsey and how important they had both become, and realized she was right. “He was take
n too soon, Mrs. Johnson. I’m truly sorry. If I could change things, I would.”

  She pressed her hand to her chest. “He’s not gone. I have him right here in my heart and I always will.”

  Emotions thickened Gavin’s voice, “Yes, Ma’am, you do. Nobody can take that away from you.”

  As no one could take his love for his own son away from him. But he’d like the chance to hold him just one time and tell him how he felt.

  She began to rock again, the soft words of her melody wafting in his subconscious as he said goodbye and walked back to the car. The man watched him leave, his expression full of bitterness. As he drove away, he could still hear the words to the song she’d been singing, “Swing low, sweet chariot, coming for to carry me home.”

  LINDSEY SLEPT most of the day, waking occasionally to find her room empty, save the beautiful vase of red roses the florist had delivered from Gavin.

  She stared out the hospital window, watching the night lights flicker in the dark sky, signifying another day had passed. Another day without her child. Was he safe? Cold? Hungry? Was he being taken care of? Was her baby changing, growing? Would she even recognize him when she did find him?

  A nurse wheeled a young mother onto the covered portico of the hospital, the woman cradling a tiny infant in her arms. The father took great pains lifting the baby and tucking her into a car seat, then helped the mother in the front seat of the car. Judging from the pink blanket and balloons, they’d had a baby girl. Had things been different, had Gavin loved her, the cozy family scene could have been them. A low sob welled in her throat, but she pushed it back down to the grinding pit in her stomach, determined to remain positive.

  “Lindsey?” JoAnn tiptoed through the doorway, looking worried and shaken as she placed a basket of cookies on the nightstand. “I’ve been worried about you.”

  “I’m okay,” Lindsey said softly, reaching up and hugging her friend. “Thanks for the cookies.”

  “You look pale. Are you all right?”

  Lindsey forced a smile. “Actually I’m already feeling better. Whatever Dr. Albright gave me must be working.”