by Rita Herron
She would have to leave him soon, find a new identity. And when she did, she would never see Cain again. It would be foolish of her to fall in love with the man. She’d only end up hurt.
A small voice inside her head warned that it was too late, that she had already fallen for Cain.
“All right, stay close to me in the store and keep your head down.” Having purposely driven to a neighboring town where he thought he wouldn’t be recognized, Cain unfastened Simon’s car-seat belt and lifted him out. Once again, his masculinity and size struck her as powerful, at odds with the gentle way he handled Simon. She tried to act nonchalant, as if the three of them were a normal family out for their Saturday shopping, not criminals on the run whose house had just erupted into flames the night before at the hands of a merciless killer.
The cold chilled her to the bone, adding to the icy tension between them as they rushed inside. They shopped for food, baby supplies and toiletries, then Cain grabbed two flashlights with batteries, a few inexpensive articles of clothing for him, mostly jeans and flannel shirts, then he added two packages of boxers and two packages of briefs. She tried desperately not to imagine him in the cotton underwear, but her imagination soared out of control. Then it was her turn, and she wished she was anywhere but beside him. They bought denim shirts, a sweatshirt and two pairs of jeans before she was forced to endure the lingerie section. Cain had no qualms about picking up a matching set of black silk panties and bra for her. She glared at his selection, then grabbed some cotton underwear and tossed them into the cart as well.
For a brief second, the hunger returned to his eyes as they passed a row of teddies, but it disappeared the minute they stepped up to the cashier’s line. A stack of newspapers flanked the register, her own face plastered on the front page.
“Woman Kidnapper Wanted. Dr. Paul Polenta Wakes From Coma And Pleads For His Baby’s Return.”
Alanna’s stomach pitched. Simon began fussing, drawing attention to them, and Cain took him from her, playing daddy to divert attention. The police were looking for a woman on the run with a baby—alone—not a family, he’d told her before they’d entered the store. Thankfully, her long blond hair in the photo and the hat changed her appearance enough to disguise her.
“Shh, it’s all right,” Cain said in a soothing tone, his words meant for her as much as Simon.
She unloaded the items onto the conveyor belt, grimacing when Cain picked up one of the papers and tossed it onto the pile. A security guard strode in and stopped to survey the store and Alanna nearly jumped out of her skin. But once again Cain calmed her by throwing his arm around her and pretending they were man and wife.
“Hey, darlin’,” he drawled, then looked at the teenage store clerk, “me and the wife are going to have us a little second honeymoon.”
The girl rolled disinterested green eyes layered in sparkly purple eyeshadow. Alanna nudged closer to Cain, grateful to have his strong arms holding her up as the security guard loped by.
CAIN HATED seeing the fear in Alanna’s face and almost regretted taking her out in public, but they had to have supplies. Simon had started fussing again the minute they’d strapped him back in his car seat. Alanna’s worry raised his own anxiety. Going to a doctor would be the curse of death for them, but it was a reality Alanna would have to face at some time in the future. A future that meant hiding out with a new identity, most likely. Far away from him.
Another reason for him to remain detached.
But if he exposed the truth about Simon and arrested the people after her, she wouldn’t have to run. Was Alanna right—would Simon’s chances for a normal life be destroyed if his birth circumstances were revealed?
Things certainly had been easier when he’d lived his life in black-and-white.
He maneuvered his car along the back roads, keeping one eye on the rearview mirror to confirm they didn’t have a tail. Alanna’s face blanched as she opened the newspaper. A photo of a brown-haired man lying in a hospital bed with dozens of tubes attached to his body and a white bandage around his head had been plastered below the headline, “Dr. Paul Polenta, Victim Of Brutal Attack When Deranged Woman Steals Baby.”
Her horror-stricken gaze met his. “I swear this is not true. I never hurt Paul.”
“I know.” Cain laid a hand over hers to calm her, fighting the urge to drag her in his arms again. But her gaze had faltered when she’d seen Polenta’s photo. What was her relationship with the man? Had they been more than friends?
When they arrived back at the lake cabin, they unloaded their purchases in strained silence and slipped into the dark interior. Cain remained on alert for anyone who might have followed them or sneaked into the cabin while they were gone. Hoping to calm her with some mindless television, he flipped on the set. But ten minutes later, her mood grew even worse when a special news report flashed her picture onto the screen.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a new turn in this sad story. Dr. Polenta, the man attacked in Savannah, Georgia, has finally come out of his coma. He asked to appear on camera in a plea for the return of his infant son.”
Cain moved toward the couch where Alanna sat, wide-eyed. The camera switched to the hospital where Polenta sat hunched over in a wheelchair. Obviously still in serious condition, he coughed, his pallor a sickly green, his eyes listless.
The reporter pushed a microphone toward him and Polenta, in a weak voice, his words slightly slurred, said, “Please, Ms. Hayes—”
“Oh, no, Paul, what have they done to you?” Alanna whispered.
“Please bring my son back…to me. He…” Polenta’s voice broke into a weak cough. “He has a medical condition.” His cough escalated so badly the reporter was forced to take over and read his statement.
“We’ve just learned from Dr. Polenta that his son has a special medical condition that is not readily visible. Blood tests show abnormalities that indicate he has a genetic liver disorder.” The reporter paused, the camera zeroing in on Polenta’s weakened form.
Polenta coughed, then cleared his throat. “Please, Ms. Hayes, Simon needs a doctor. You have to bring him back to me.”
Chapter Thirteen
Alanna gripped the edge of the denim sofa, her head spinning. Was it true? Did Simon have a liver disorder? His pallor had been off earlier, and he’d certainly been cranky.
And poor Paul. He looked deathly ill himself. What had they done to him?
“It could be a trap,” Cain said in a low voice.
“I know.” Alanna’s fingers dug into her palms as he sat down beside her on the sofa. “But what if it’s true?”
Cain pulled her hands into his, warming them. “Don’t panic. Just tell me what you know about Simon’s medical history.”
Alanna struggled to think about the early days when she’d first come to care for him. “He was born six weeks early. His lungs weren’t fully developed so he had to have oxygen and he stayed in the ICU neonatal unit for several weeks. But I don’t recall anything about a gene abnormality or his blood count being off. He was jaundiced but that’s not uncommon.”
“Who were the doctors in charge of Simon?”
“Dr. William Forrester was the OB-GYN who delivered him. Dr. Randall Ames and Stanley Peterson are heads of the fertility clinic. I met them when I went there for treatment.” The bitter memories surfaced, but she quickly banished them. There was no time to dwell on her own problems and inadequacies.
She couldn’t let Simon down.
“This announcement about Simon having a medical problem could be a setup to lure you back to them.”
Alanna clenched his hands. “I know, but what if it’s not? Simon has been irritable lately and he looks peaked. All signs of illness.”
“Don’t babies sense stress from their caretakers?”
“Yes, but he still might be ill.” Alanna’s throat clogged with tears. “I don’t think Paul would lie. He cares about Simon.”
Cain studied her, his expression grim. “They might have d
rugged Polenta and forced him to make that plea.”
“I can’t take that chance, Cain. Simon has to see a doctor.”
Silence reigned between them as they both contemplated the problems ing a qualified physician with the expert training to care for Simon and one who’d keep their existence a secret.
Alanna stood and paced across the room, her nerves raw. “I have to call Paul and talk to him myself, Cain. Maybe he’ll tell me whether or not they forced him to say that Simon is ill.”
“If someone coerced him into saying those things, they’ll probably be waiting for your call.”
“That’s a chance I have to take.” She threw up her hands in frustration. “I couldn’t bear it if Simon needed medical treatment and I did nothing.”
“If the people there are forcing Polenta to make these statements, they probably have Polenta’s phone tapped. At best, they’ll try to trace the call so they can locate you.”
“They already know I’m in Atlanta. They have to be the ones who sent those men after me.”
He conceded her point, but he didn’t look happy.
“I have to call Paul, Cain. I have to know if I should take Simon back to him.”
Cain warned her to watch the time in case someone at the research center traced the call. “Paul looked so weak,” Alanna said as she punched in the number. “I hope he can talk.”
His eyes narrowed but she didn’t have time to question his thoughts. The sight of Paul’s photograph in the paper, and of him being wheeled to the microphone on the news broadcast had wrenched her heart.
“Coastal Island Research Hospital, how may I help you?”
“Dr. Polenta, please.”
“Dr. Polenta is in serious condition, ma’am. He’s not to be disturbed.”
“This is important. Please put me through.”
“Who’s calling?”
Alanna nibbled on her lower lip. “Just tell him it’s about his son.”
The woman clucked a suspicious sound, but transferred the call to his room. Alanna glanced at Cain for support. Cain had claimed the ancient rocking chair and cradled Simon in his arms, smiling as the baby sucked on the bottle. At least Simon’s appetite was intact; that had to be a good sign.
“Hello.”
“Yes…Paul.”
“Alanna?”
“Yes, it’s me. God, are you all right?”
“I…I’m weak, are you okay?”
“Yes, I saw you on TV. I don’t know what they did to you, but you have to tell me if Simon is really sick.”
A bitter cough attacked him and Alanna held her breath waiting. “He…needs to be seen. Blood tests came back. Abnormal.”
Alanna’s legs gave way and she sank onto the sofa, hands trembling. “Tell me where to go. Is it an emergency? Can a regular doctor take care of h
“Have to bring him to me. Has to do with the project, the gene therapy.”
Alanna’s mind raced for a solution. “Are they holding you? Can you get out and meet me somewhere private?”
“I’ll try. My office.”
Cain tapped his watch and Alanna nodded. “We’ll leave right away. But how will I get in touch with you?”
“Call my new cell phone. I’ll sneak out of the hospital and find you.” He recited the number.
Alanna hung up, her anxiety mounting as Simon began to fuss after he finished his bottle. “We have to go, Cain.”
Cain nodded, his eyes wary. “Let me phone for backup.”
“No.” Alanna grabbed his arm. “I’ll take Simon alone. You can’t call the cops or the FBI.”
Cain caught her hand in his, squeezing hard. “You’re not going alone, Alanna. We’re in this together now.”
Relief mushroomed inside her even as she told herself it was wrong for her to accept his help. If the meeting was a setup, she didn’t want another Caldwell man’s death on her conscience. But she didn’t want to die, either.
Then who would take care of Simon?
THE RIDE TO SAVANNAH took forever. Late-afternoon thunderstorms darkened the sky and slowed traffic to a crawl, afternoon rush hour adding to the torturous nerve-racking trek through the downtown Atlanta area. Winter vacationers heading south added to the mass of cars piling onto the expressway, several accidents up and down I-75 creating a backlog of impatient drivers.
Simon’s intermittent crying mingled with the splatter of rain, increasing the tension in the car. As they drove down I-16 and neared Savannah, Cain pulled at the collar of his shirt, perspiration trickling down his neck in spite of the cool temperature outside.
“Shh, sweetie, don’t cry.” Alanna tried to quiet Simon with a pacifier and toys, to no avail.
“Do you think he’s sick?” she asked, an edge to her voice.
Cain gave the baby a once-over. His cheeks had lost their pale color, but he was screaming, which probably accounted for the pink flush. “Does he feel warm?”
Alanna pressed a hand to his forehead. They had taken his temperature before they’d left and it had been normal. “No.”
“Maybe he’s teething.”
Hope flitted across her face for a brief second. She slid a finger inside his mouth, feeling his gums. “Maybe. But I can’t feel any teeth coming through.”
“Could be too early.”
Alanna nodded, obviously latching on to his reasoning. “Maybe we can stop at a convenience store, so I can buy some numbing gel to rub on his gums. Oh, and a teething toy.”
Cain nodded and flicked the radio station to a soft jazz station, hoping it might calm them all. Simon’s cries slowly faded as he drifted asleep.
“Go ahead and get some rest, too,” he said.
Alanna lay her head back and sighed. “Aren’t you tired, Cain? I know you didn’t sleep much last night.”
He patted her hand, his body tingling at the feel of her soft skin beneath his fingers. “I’m used to long hours. A cop’s work.”
A few miles down the road, she relented and exhaustion claimed her.
Cain remained tense, on alert, head spinning with questions. The past hour had seemed endless. Alanna had moved beside him, her head leaning on his shoulder. Something about the gesture seemed very intimate, stirring emotions and thoughts he had no business feeling. His own anxiety over Simon’s health didn’t help either, adding to the bigger worry that they were walking into a trap.
But the realization that he cared about both Simon and Alanna kept him from pulling her into his arms. Once they discovered the truth about Simon and he’d found a way to insure Alanna and Simon had a life together without scientists on their tails, he would have to say goodbye to them. And move on to another case. He’d have to prove Eric’s innocence in the Banks murder.
The heaviness in his chest built like a slow throbbing pain.
He pulled into a convenience store for gas. Alanna and Simon both stirred. “Why don’t you feed him while I run in and get some of that numbing gel.”
“Thanks, Cain.”
He filled the gas tank, then went inside to pay and picked up the medicine, but the afternoon edition of the paper drew his eye. The front page featured an article about genetic engineering and recent scientific breakthroughs. Apparently Polenta’s plea for his son had spurred a piece on his work and other related topics. Cain paid for the items and hurried to the car, tossing the paper on the seat. Alanna flinched at the sight of the front-page article, then picked it up and read silently while Simon sucked down formula. “This certainly puts Paul in a positive light.”
Cain twisted his mouth in thought, knowing she was right. The more positive Paul looked, the less sympathetic Alanna would appear in the public’s eye.
Alanna flipped open the paper. “There are more articles on the research center here and the cancer vaccines they’ve been working on. The experiments with stem cells are the most controversial, but they’re working in reproductive biology to transform stem cells into organs chemically.”
“That process would eliminate the unethi
cal element of using human embryos, right?”
“Right, but it’s probably years away.”
Cain considered the articles about Arnold Hughes and the problems at the center in the past year. Even with the negative publicity the center had garnered, one or two bad apples in a barrel of thousands of geniuses couldn’t negate the cutting-edge work conducted at CIRP.
Still, the media attention would only add to the cloud of doubt hovering over Alanna should she be discovered now. If Polenta had warned Alanna not to go to the press, why had he or the people behind Project Simon done so? Weren’t they afraid Alanna would come forward and tell them her suspicions?
Exactly the reason they had leaked the story first, he realized. Putting her on the defensive definitely gave them the advantage. After all, whoever instigated Project Simon at CIRP could tamper with files and records to disprove her claims.
If that happened, how the hell would he ever prove Alanna’s story was true?
Details of the article about Hughes’s supposed death flashed into his mind. Hughes had disappeared at the same time Denise Harley’s work had supposedly been destroyed. Could Hughes have survived and accessed her work? Could he be the mastermind behind Project Simon?
SAVANNAH GREETED THEM with its magnificent historical squares, carriage rides and giant azaleas flanking the streets, taking Alanna back to the day she’d first moved to the quaint Southern city to take care of Simon. A time when she’d just experienced her husband’s rejection and learned she couldn’t bear children of her own, a time that had been the lowest point in her life. But the rich Southern landmark had welcomed her into its loving arms, embracing her with the cultural hospitality famous in the South. Then she had met Simon and the cloak of darkness that had surrounded her had melted into a ray of light that spelled hope. Simon had given her a reason to live, a reason to believe that she could find happiness one day, a child to love and fill the empty void in her life. Now he lay snuggled in his car seat, sleeping, oblivious to the fact that danger dogged him like a demon. That she might lose him any moment.