Shotgun Baby

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  “I know.” Robbie turned back to the window as a fresh bout of tears flooded her eyes. She just didn’t know if the pain Con was feeling now would finally convince him he still had a heart or be the final nail in its coffin.

  “He ran the washing machine for one little towel,” Pete said, crossing to Robbie and putting an arm around her shoulders.

  Robbie grinned through her tears, as she was sure Pete intended, and nodded.

  They stood silently for a moment, until Con’s curses started coming from the kitchen.

  “Do you think it would be a good idea if I get something put on the news? Just in case someone recognizes Cecily or Joey?” she asked Pete suddenly. She had to do something.

  “Can’t see how it’d hurt,” Pete said, considering. “She’s got to know we’re after her. And maybe someone will see them.”

  Pete stayed until after the film crew she called had come and gone. He even convinced Con to go on the air, to issue a plea to the kidnapper to return his son.

  But the hours passed and still no word.

  A CAR DROVE down the street. A black sedan Con recognized. His shoulders stiffened as his gaze followed the vehicle intently. It belonged to his neighbor across the street and disappeared into the man’s garage. The knot in Con’s stomach tightened. He couldn’t stand much more of the waiting.

  Jamming his hands into his pants pockets, he resumed pacing between the phone and the living-room window. Robbie was in the kitchen, where she’d been ever since Pete and the film crew had left, making a dinner neither one of them was going to eat.

  His phone was wired, there were guards posted at each end of his street, and still nothing was happening. Had Joey been fed? Was someone changing his diaper?

  Cursing, Con paused at the window yet again. The neighborhood was so quiet he couldn’t stand it. Why did that damn kid who was always around have to take today off? At least he’d be someone to look at. At least there’d be something going on.

  Images of what might be happening to his son invaded his mind. The world was filled with sickos, with evil people who wouldn’t hesitate to hurt a tiny child to get back at the child’s father. People who—

  Suddenly Robbie was there, her arms creeping around his waist, holding him. She didn’t say a word. There wasn’t anything to say. But she was there, sharing her strength with him, chasing away the grotesque images that were haunting him more and more as the hours passed.

  Cecily should have contacted them by now.

  Con turned, sliding his arms around his friend. His wife. He needed her now in a way he never had before, needed her heart, her soul. Her gentle caring. Her eternal optimism.

  He needed her if he was ever to find a way to hope again.

  ROBBIE HELD CON, taking as much comfort from him as she gave. He was a rock, solid, sure. Capable of moving mountains. He always got his man. Always.

  She wasn’t sure exactly when his need changed, when she sensed a more immediate urgency, a physical urgency, within him. Without consciously knowing she was doing so, she floated from feeling a sense of comfort to feeling a desperate mind-numbing desire.

  Desperate for the escape, she clutched him to her as he lowered his lips to hers. Let him take me away, let him make me forget. Just for a minute. Let me forget.

  She kissed him hard, searching for something beyond the sex, some affirmation of a greater power, for the bond of strength born when two people become as one.

  Stopping only long enough to close the living-room curtains, Con stripped her silently and lowered her to the floor. There was no foreplay. No patience for leisurely exploration, no time. Only the compulsion to connect to each other, to take everything, to give everything, to share the pain and fear that were eating them both alive.

  Robbie didn’t utter a word, either. She couldn’t. There were no words for what they were seeking.

  But they were seeking it together. Of that she was sure.

  Con was powerful when he entered her, and she offered him sanctuary from the storm thrashing through him, finding her own sanctuary in the giving.

  They could get through this. Together. They could do anything as long as they were together.

  She flew with him to a place where only goodness and beauty existed. And she held on to him during the return to earth, to face again the pain of their missing son. But even in the midst of harsh reality, a miracle occurred. For Con didn’t pull away from her. He didn’t close his eyes or his heart He stared straight into her eyes—and allowed her the first glimpse she’d ever seen of the man who’d been living alone inside him for more than thirty years.

  “Thank you,” he said, his eyes bright with the effort it was taking him to keep unfamiliar emotions from spilling over.

  “I love you,” Robbie whispered, suddenly knowing he was ready now to hear the words.

  He nodded and crushed her to him. He might not ever be able to love her back, but at least he’d finally learned how to accept her love. To believe that some-one could love him.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  IT WAS MIDNIGHT and still no word. Con sat at his desk waiting for the phone to ring. Robbie was half reclining on the couch smoking a cigarette. She hadn’t said a word in almost an hour.

  He’d finally convinced her to call Stan and Susan before they had a chance to hear about the kidnapping on the news. They were on their way to Phoenix now. Con couldn’t believe how anxiously he was awaiting their arrival. Not that their being here was going to make any difference to the kidnappers or to Joey’s being found.

  But they’d always been there for Robbie. They’d always kissed her hurts and made them better. Maybe Susan could at least talk her daughter into getting some sleep.

  His heart slammed at the shrill ring of the telephone. Robbie jumped off the couch, rushing over to him as he picked up the receiver.

  “Randolph.”

  He listened to the voice on the other end of the line with a sinking heart, avoiding Robbie’s eyes as he hung up the phone. Damn.

  “What? Who was it?” Robbie asked.

  “Emerson. They found Cecily.” He couldn’t stand the hope he saw in Robbie’s eyes. Couldn’t stand the pain he knew was going to follow. It was time to get to work.

  “She didn’t have him,” he said bluntly.

  “Didn’t have him?” Robbie echoed in disbelief, leaning against the desk.

  “She’d run off with some guy who’s old enough to be her grandfather. He’s rich as hell and promising to take care of her for the rest of her life.”

  “Why the false name? The secrecy?” Robbie asked, obviously not willing to give up hope yet.

  “They’re running from his grandchildren, who’re trying to have him declared incompetent. Apparently they want his money, too.” Con wasn’t surprised, just damn tired of the rotten things people did, the lengths they were willing to go to when greed was in the driver’s seat.

  And sick at the thought of the implications the phone call had put on Joey’s disappearance.

  “What about the bundle she was carrying? Maybe she dumped Joey someplace.”

  Con shook his head. “She didn’t have a suitcase. She’d rolled up the things she was taking with her in the blanket from her bed.”

  “Oh, God…” Robbie’s words trailed off and a look of despair crossed her face.

  Con wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms, to wipe that look off her face. But they didn’t have another minute to lose.

  “We have to get to work, Rob. I need your help.”

  BY THE TIME an exhausted Susan called them to breakfast in the morning, Stan, Robbie and Con had memorized every name left on the list Con had made of possible suspects. The list had been several pages long when Stan and Susan had arrived in the early hours of the morning. It was now down to one sheet.

  “I’ll get the newspaper,” Susan said as soon as she’d filled coffee cups for all of them. “Robbie, Con, eat.”

  Neither of them had eaten since breakfast the day b
efore.

  Robbie didn’t think she could choke down a bite of the food Susan had prepared. The sight of the eggs made her nauseous. The fluffy biscuits only made her think of Joey and the time she’d given him half a biscuit to gum. Most of it had landed on the floor, but the baby had had the time of his life.

  “Con! Stan! Come here!” Susan called from just inside the front door.

  Wiping tears from her eyes, Robbie ran into the foyer after them.

  “There’s an envelope here,” Susan said, holding up the newspaper. A sheriffs wife for many years, she knew better than to touch the envelope that was nestled in the centerfold of the paper.

  Grabbing a handkerchief from his pocket, Stan took the envelope. It wasn’t sealed. All four of them stared at the single piece of paper that fell out and floated to the floor.

  Taking the handkerchief, Con picked it up. As his eyes skimmed the page, the color drained from his face.

  Stan read the note over Con’s shoulder and headed for the bathroom. Susan grabbed a hold of Robbie before she collapsed.

  “Let me see it,” Robbie said.

  With an arm around both of them, Con held up the letter.

  I have the kid. All I can say is he’s alive—for now. And he cries good. Real good. If you’re patient I might even let you hear him scream a time or two. Or maybe not. Have a good day.

  Whoever had the baby had taken him out of malice. He wanted to make them suffer.

  “I’ve got some calls to make,” Con said, his voice dead.

  Robbie started after him, but Susan pulled her back. “Let him go, honey.”

  “He’s blaming himself,” Robbie said. “I can’t leave him alone like this. It isn’t his fault the world is full of sick people. He can’t blame himself for…" Her voice broke as more tears came.

  “He has to work through it on his own, Robyn,” Susan said in a tone of voice Robbie had never heard her use before. “You can talk to him until you’re hoarse and he still won’t believe. He has to learn to like himself on his own.”

  Feeling like a little girl again, Robbie buried her face against her mother’s ample bosom, crying for all the wrongs there had been in one very good man’s life. Crying, too, for the baby who was lying help-lessly somewhere, crying, needing them.

  By noon Con still had no idea who had taken his son. Throughout the morning most of the suspects on his list had been eliminated. A couple were even dead. And suddenly, despite his fear and exhaustion, the answer came to him. He remembered another threat he’d received. One he’d given no credence to whatsoever. A name that wasn’t on his list.

  “It’s got to be the boy!” he exclaimed. Every pair of eyes around the table swung to him. Pete was there, Stan and Robbie, as well as Martin Emerson, who’d returned from Flagstaff midmorning.

  “What boy?” Martin asked.

  Just like that, things fell into place, the pieces of the puzzle fitting so perfectly Con knew he’d hit the mark.

  “The woman who died last year in the Ramirez deal. She had a teenage son. He came after me at the funeral, refusing to let me in the church. Said he’d make me pay.”

  “A boy, Con?” Pete said doubtfully.

  “He looked different then, had short hair, glasses.”

  Stan leaned forward. “You’ve seen him since?” he asked sharply.

  “He’s been working in the neighborhood. Doing odd jobs. Started a few months ago.”

  Robbie’s mouth fell open in shock. “The boy who does the Waverlys’ yard?”

  Con nodded, his adrenaline pumping. “I just realized it’s the same kid. It wouldn’t have been all that difficult for him to get into the day care. Could’ve said he was an older sibling if someone stopped him.” Con’s instincts were telling him to move. He’d found his answer. He had to save his son.

  “He wasn’t around at all yesterday…” Robbie’s voice trailed off.

  Emerson grabbed the mobile phone from the middle of the table and ten seconds later was barking orders into the receiver. Every available man in the state would soon be searching for the boy.

  “Pete, I need to know everything you can tell me about dealing with a hostage situation,” Con said. He was going to do this one alone. No one else was going to die as a result of his orders.

  “Stan, find out if he’s purchased a gun in the past fifteen months, or ammunition to go with a gun his mother may have had.”

  “Robbie, how many of your snoops can you get to work on finding him?”

  Robbie was on her feet. “All of them,” she said on her way out the door. “Give me an hour.”

  She was exhausted, her face haggard, and still she was full of optimism. Of hope. And Con suddenly found himself buying into that hope.

  If his hunch was right, the kid’s main purpose was to make Con suffer a long slow living hell. Which meant Joey was still alive. And that was all Con cared about.

  “I’VE FOUND HIM!” Robbie rushed into the living room two hours later. “He rented a migrant shack at the back of an orange grove twenty miles east of here.”

  Con was on his feet instantly, grabbing Robbie by the shoulders. “You’re sure?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Positive. The guy who rented him the shack was the same one who tipped me about that story I did about the dead greyhounds last year. Apparently the kid’s been fixing up the place for weeks.”

  Which only reinforced Con’s theory. The boy planned to string Con on for a while, to squeeze every bit of suffering out of him. He wasn’t going to settle for one nasty note. Which meant that in all likelihood Joey was still alive.

  “I’m going after him,” Con said.

  “Wait a minute,” Stan said, coming in on the tail end of the conversation. He and Pete had been in the kitchen coordinating a statewide search of gun shops by phone.

  “He’s armed. Bought himself a nice little automatic almost a year ago.”

  Robbie’s eyes filled with fear as she looked from her father to Con. “Let Pete go in first, Con. He’s trained to deal with this.”

  “No,” Con said. Pete had a wife, a son and another child on the way. He might even have become his friend over the past twenty-four hours. Con wasn’t going to let him risk his life. “This is between me and the kid. I’m going alone.”

  In spite of all the warnings to the contrary, in spite of a direct order from his boss, Con left the house alone ten minutes later. He wasn’t waiting for a fullscale move. He wasn’t waiting for assistance to be organized. What he was doing, Robbie knew in her heart, was giving up his life. He was going to offer himself to the kid in exchange for Joey.

  An eye for an eye. A parent for a parent.

  She’d heard him on the phone in his bedroom right before he left. He’d called his attorney and named Robbie as Joey’s legal guardian in case anything happened to him.

  He hadn’t even kissed her goodbye. And she understood that, too. They’d become one spirit, one soul, the day before. If he got too close to her, he might not have the strength to separate from her again. To do what he had to do.

  What she couldn’t let him do.

  “Pete, we have to go after Con. We can’t let him do this alone,” Robbie said, bursting into the kitchen after watching Con’s car drive away.

  Pete put down the phone and picked up his keys. “I’ve already called Emerson. They’re going to meet us at the shack with backup,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  “Be careful,” Susan said, hugging Robbie tight before pushing her out the door.

  “Bring them both back alive,” Stan said, and then picked up the phone. He was calling several of his former deputies to serve as additional backup. If the odds made any difference, they had a chance to pull this off.

  But in law enforcement, the odds very rarely made a difference.

  CON APPROACHED the shack on foot, his footsteps silent, like a panther on the hunt. The old one-room building wasn’t air-conditioned, and the one window was wide open. Con heard the drone of a television, the ste
ady hum of a high-voltage fan. Sweating in the hundred-plus temperature, he hoped to God the baby had survived the heat.

  He was still wearing yesterday’s slacks and shirt, with his holster strapped to his chest, and wondered if maybe he should have taken the time to change. The suit might intimidate the kid. It might make him do something crazy.

  He could hear the television show quite distinctly by the time he reached the window. It was an old “Happy Days” rerun. Two fans were humming. There was no sound of Joey.

  Slowly, so slowly he barely felt himself move, Con peeked inside. He saw the kid immediately. He was sitting in the middle of a newish-looking couch, frowning at the television set. A baby bottle, half-full of what appeared to be juice, was standing on an old barrel being used as a coffee table. A box of diapers, a size too big, stood open on the floor beside the couch. There was no sign of Joey.

  The kid glanced back to a corner by the refrigerator, the open refrigerator, Con noted. The kid glanced that way again several more times over the next minutes. A fan had been set up to one side.

  Homemade air-conditioning. The baby was some-where behind the refrigerator door. Con was sure of it.

  As it turned out, it was almost too easy to take the kid. Con used a trick so old it never worked on experienced criminals. He threw a rock just outside the door of the shack, and as predicted, the kid came out to investigate. Con had him in a half nelson before the kid knew what had hit him. Before he could aim the gun he had cocked in his right hand.

  The gun went off, a bullet ricocheting against the dirt to lodge in the outside wall of the shack.

  “Easy, now, easy,” Con said.

  The boy was much stronger and better-trained than Con had anticipated, but he managed to wrestle him to the ground, disarming him at the same time.

  “You!” the kid cried when he got his first look at his assailant.

  “I came for my son,” Con said, holding both the kid’s arms with one hand while he took off his belt.

  “I should’ve taken the woman,” the kid grunted, using a decent karate maneuver that just missed Con’s groin. “I’d at least have raped her by now.”