A Baby to Love

by Susan Kearney

  “A father.” Jeff’s eyes filled with pain before he hid his anguish behind a shuttered look.

  The rest of dinner passed in long silences. Chelsea barely tasted her food. She didn’t finish her wine. Jeff paid their bill and without conferring, they skipped the movie they’d planned to see and drove back to Jeff’s house.

  Chelsea wanted to slide into the middle of the front seat, snuggle up to Jeff and rest her head on his shoulder. He always smelled so good. And his arm would curl around her in a comforting gesture. Only she didn’t want comfort; she wanted love.

  Why did she have to find the perfect man—kind, compassionate, sexy—and then discover he couldn’t give her the one thing she wanted most? Life wasn’t fair, and if she knew what religion she was, she might be tempted to raise her fist and shake it at God.

  Instead, she grabbed hold of the thought that she wouldn’t go home to an empty house. She would have Alex. She must make the right decision for her son.

  “I’ve never thanked you for all your help,” she said quietly, keeping tears at bay.

  “Don’t.”

  She heard the pain in his voice but she didn’t care. If she meant so much to him, he could damned well do something about it.

  “I’m not asking you to give up your profession.” She clamped her hand over her mouth. She wouldn’t resort to begging. She’d promised herself she would leave with dignity, wouldn’t say a word to castigate his decision.

  “I know. But it’s not fair for you to live with a husband who is gone most of the time.”

  She sighed. “And who appointed you the one to make this decision?”

  He started to reply, but she raised her hand to his lips. “Shh. We’ve been over this before. Let’s not ruin what we had together with words we may regret.”

  The cellular phone in his car rang and interrupted, their conversation. Jeff pushed a button.

  The frantic voice of his sister Stacy shouted over the speaker. “Jeff, someone’s broken into the house!”

  He stomped on the gas, and the car shot forward. “Stacy, grab the baby and get out.”

  “I called 911,” she cried. “They told me not to hang up, but I did to call you.”

  Chelsea’s heart pumped harder than the car’s screaming engine. “Where’s Alex?”

  “Upstairs. And I hear thumping noises. I c-can’t leave him. But I’m so scared.”

  Jeff whirled around a corner, tires squealing though his voice remained calm. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” Stacy cried. “Tell me what to do.”

  “Leave the house,” Chelsea ordered, hoping she was making the right decision, fear and adrenaline roaring through her like a hurricane.

  Stacy sobbed. “But Alex?”

  Jeff’s sister was fifteen years old, five foot three and a hundred pounds—no match for a dangerous and possibly armed adult. But nausea roiled in Chelsea’s stomach at the thought of Alex alone in his crib. Still, for Stacy to try to save the baby would put both of them at risk. Swallowing her fear and knowing that at the breakneck speed Jeff was driving, they’d arrive in minutes, Chelsea shouted in the direction of the phone. “A burglar will have no interest in a baby. Get out of there. Now!”

  “Oh, noooo. The noises are directly over my head. Hurry, Jeff.”

  And then the line went dead.

  Chapter Ten

  Sweat broke out on Chelsea’s forehead and trickled into her eyes. He’ll be fine. He’ll be okay. She repeated the words like a mantra.

  They were almost there. For once she wished Jeff lived in a subdivision. Even if Stacy ran for help, the neighboring estate was a good sprint through the surrounding woods. And in the meantime, Alex was vulnerable.

  Jeff peeled around another corner, and she started to take off her seat belt. Jeff shook his head. “It could be dangerous. Wait in the car.”

  “That’s my son in your house.”

  “I’ll bring him to you.”

  She didn’t waste breath arguing. Jeff turned into the winding driveway, and dust billowed behind them like a storm cloud. After he screeched to a stop, she leapt out of the car, held her breath to prevent choking on the dust, sprinted toward the house.

  Sirens wailed, the police only moments behind them.

  Beside her, Jeff stumbled as Stacy flung herself out from behind a tree and into his arms and sobbed. “Get Alex. You have to get Alex.”

  As Jeff set Stacy aside, Chelsea reached the front stoop first. With a sweaty palm, she twisted the knob and flung open the door. Ignoring the huge knot of fear churning in the pit of her stomach, she raced upstairs. Let him be all right.

  Thoughts of Alex’s smiling face peeking through the slats in his crib helped her overcome fatigue and loss of breath. Behind her, Jeff must have taken the steps four at a time to catch up so quickly.

  They burst into the baby’s room together. Her gaze flew to the crib.

  Empty!

  “Where is he?” she shrieked.

  The window by the balcony was wide open. Suspecting the intruder had climbed through the window to leave, she raised her hand to stem her dizziness at the horrifying thought that he’d taken Alex with him.

  Don’t faint. Alex needs you. She gulped fresh air in the few seconds it took Jeff to search the room.

  “Shh.” He raised his finger to his lips.

  A cooing noise came from below, and her heart pounded with hope. Together they rushed down the stairs, flinging open doors on the way. Jeff checked the bathroom. In two strides, he reached the tub and flung back the shower doors.

  Alex lay in the bathtub, busily trying to pull his toe into his mouth. The baby’s head turned toward them, and when he spied Chelsea, he grinned, those deep dimples on his face winking.

  “Alex.” Chelsea knelt and scooped him into her arms. His little warm body felt so good pressed to her. If anything bad had happened to him…She wouldn’t think it. She breathed in his baby-powder scent and kissed his chubby, smooth cheek.

  As she hugged the baby, Jeff put his arm over her shoulder and looked out the open bathroom window. “We should get out of the house. Just because the window’s open doesn’t mean the thief has left.”

  Stacy stumbled into the room, her eyes red from crying. “The police are combing the woods.” Her gaze dropped to the baby. “Alex. Is he all—?”

  “He’s fine,” Chelsea reassured her.

  “I was so scared,” Stacy muttered. “I wanted to come up and help him, but I made myself call the cops.”

  Jeff grabbed Stacy into a bear hug. “You did good. Real good.”

  Chelsea, grateful for the teen’s quick thinking, had trouble keeping the trembling from her tone. If she’d panicked and run, Alex might not now be in her arms “Thank you, Stacy. I only have one question.”

  “What?”

  “Why was Alex lying in the bathtub?”

  AFTER THE POLICE, who found nothing, made sure the house was safe, Chelsea packed, her hands still shaking.

  Jeff returned to the room after a friend picked up Stacy and gave her a ride home. “I think we should head for the mountains.”

  Chelsea snapped shut her suitcase. “I’m going home.”

  He paced, his thighs tensing and releasing coiled energy. “You can’t go home. It’s not safe.”

  Chelsea sighed and sat on the bed. Her fingers played with the fringe of a pillow. “Until my memory returns, nowhere is safe. Perhaps it’s time I stopped running. Then maybe my memories will return.”

  He stopped pacing directly in front of her and gripped her shoulders. “Did almost taking a bullet bring back your memory? Did almost losing Alex jar your mind into yielding its secrets?”

  “But—”

  “Did it?” he pressed.

  “No.”

  “Someone is after you. Or Alex. You need to hide.”

  Her head jerked up and her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, ‘or Alex’?”

  Like a volcano on the verge of er
upting, he seemed barely able to control his anger. “What mere thief would stop and take a baby out of its crib? Think. There have been too many coincidences. Anne’s murder, your accident at her house, being followed, a shot through the window at you. You have to face the fact that someone is after the baby.”

  The thought stunned her. “You think the thief was after Alex?”

  Jeff paced again. His long legs ate up the room. “Why would a thief have touched the child? What’s there to steal in a baby’s room?”

  “But if a kidnapper was after Alex, why didn’t they take him?”

  “Probably the arrival of the police. Running with a baby isn’t easy, and the sirens could have scared the kidnapper into thinking he’d be caught if he’d been slowed by Alex in his arms. So he—or she—left Alex in the bathtub—a safe place, which means someone’s been after the baby all this time.”

  The blood drained from her face, and she broke into a sweat. “You think Anne was murdered so someone could take her child?”

  He spun on his heel and crossed his arms over his chest as if daring her to challenge him. “It makes sense. When you took custody of Alex, the murderer came after you. And when that failed, the murderer resorted to a kidnapping attempt.”

  “But who wants Alex?” Damn her lost memories. She raised her hands to throbbing temples. Why couldn’t she remember?

  “I don’t know.” A muscle in his jaw clenched, revealing his rage. “But the child has never been in danger. Only you.”

  “And Anne,” she whispered. “I don’t know. This makes no sense to me.”

  “I could be wrong. It’s just a possibility that the baby is the target. But you and Alex cannot go home where you could easily be found.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I won’t let you walk into danger.”

  Her chest squeezed tight. She couldn’t risk Alex. If there was the merest chance that someone would try to take him, she would do whatever was necessary to keep him safe. Even if that something meant staying with Jeff until her heart broke into a thousand pieces.

  She lifted her head and straightened her spine, suddenly anxious to be on her way. Somehow she would have to find the strength to keep an emotional distance between them. “So where are you taking us?”

  “To my cabin in the mountains. It’s a perfect place to hide—in a small town where strangers will be noticed. We can picnic by the lake, relax and let the police do their thing. I’ll call my friend Garrick and have him watch the house while we’re gone.”

  “You think the police will solve this any easier than Anne’s murder?”

  “What other choices do we have? Surely you don’t want to hunt for Anne’s murderer while carrying Alex in your arms?”

  She held a bottle for Alex, and the baby sucked greedily, unperturbed by his encounter with the thief. Jeff was all too ready to take charge, make the decisions. And it would be so easy to just let him. She had to make herself argue. “And what makes you so sure that no one will follow us? If the town is isolated, we might be better off in a hotel in the city.”

  “I don’t think so. A hotel is too public. It would be too easy to get to you or the baby there. You’d have to go out to eat. Maids and service people come in and out. A bribe might even-secure a key to your room.”

  She leaned back, too weary to disagree again. She didn’t want to fight with him and looked down from his piercing gaze. On her lap she held her appointment book. But as usual, the notations made no sense. The ominous word, “Obsession,” underlined three times, still held no meaning. But the initials “C.O.” reminded her that Carol Oxford should have returned this evening.

  Picking up the phone, she dialed. “Carol Oxford, please.”

  After going through the switchboard, a cheery voice answered. “Hello.”

  “Carol, this is Chelsea Connors. Sorry to call so late—”

  “What’s wrong?”

  How had the woman known something was wrong? “It’s complicated. Could we drive out and talk to you?”

  “We? You don’t sound like yourself.”

  This woman obviously knew Chelsea well. There was no point in trying to fool her, and perhaps she could find answers to some of her questions. More importantly she might find out who was after the baby. “We’ll drive out now, if that’s okay.”

  Despite her exhaustion after making a slew of calls, Chelsea couldn’t sleep during the ride to Old Point Comfort. Instead, she saw mental pictures of Anne and heard the haunting words of her nightmares. Promise me.

  Chelsea still didn’t know what those words meant. And she still hadn’t found her missing gun. The police had searched pawnshops without coming up with a clue. Oddly the only good news these days was that Martin Tinsdale had agreed to run the firm until she returned.

  THE IRON WAS POLISHED, the cord neatly folded and in place. The silverware was straight in the drawer. The dress shoes in the closet rested under dress suits, loafers under the casual clothes. The lint catcher from the dryer was scrubbed clean, and only a light dusting of the ceiling fans was needed before vacuuming the footprints from the rug on the way out the door.

  Perfect. Everything was ready for the coming trip.

  Chelsea and the doctor thought they were so smart. Finding out where they were going had been so easy. In their arrogance, they had become careless. And it would be their downfall.

  THEY DROVE NORTH AND WEST, arriving in Old Point Comfort shortly before one in the morning. Despite the late hour, Jeff sensed Chelsea’s keen anticipation. He only hoped Carol Oxford wouldn’t disappoint her.

  The sleepy tidewater village was home to fishermen, shipbuilders, yachtsmen and summer residents. Shuttered clapboard houses lined brick sidewalks. Petunias, hollyhocks and geraniums overflowed the gardens behind white picket fences. Surrounded on three sides by the bay, Oxford Inn crouched on the highest point in town like an old patriarch proud of family.

  After Jeff parked, they entered a lobby of woodpegged wall panels and hand-hewn oak beams.

  A receptionist led them over rich burgundy carpet into a parlor with a giant fireplace that boasted a colonial heritage. On the walls of the cozy room were murals of nineteenth-century wallpaper depicting early-American scenes. The rear wall offered views of the Chesapeake, but Chelsea only had eyes for the tall woman who stood to greet them.

  Carol Oxford’s elegant attire, a long skirt and cream silk blouse with pearl earrings, matched the parlor’s old-fashioned yet sophisticated decor. The two women locked gazes, and Carol reached around Alex to embrace Chelsea.

  Chelsea stepped back and took Jeff’s arm, her fingers gripping him so tightly he almost winced. “This is Dr. Jeffrey Kendall.”

  Carol looked him over from head to toe while he held her gaze. Finally she softened with what he hoped was approval.

  “I’ve arranged for a late supper. You can rest and then tell me what’s wrong.” Her hazel eyes dropped to the baby. “Hi, Alex. You’ve grown since I saw you last.”

  “And when was that?” Chelsea asked.

  Carol’s head whipped up, and her eyes narrowed. “You know perfectly well I saw him when you drove Anne to her new home.”

  “I have amnesia.” Chelsea said the words as if it cost her nothing, but Jeff felt her hand on his arm tremble. “I’m afraid I don’t remember a thing. Not you, not Anne, nothing about my past.”

  “Amnesia?”

  “It’s a long story,” Chelsea explained.

  “Well, you all come sit down while I have Martha serve dinner. I’ll do my best to fill in the details.”

  Carol Oxford had an innate kindness about her. She instinctively knew to pamper Chelsea without inundating her with questions. When they were seated around the table, Carol reached for Alex, and Chelsea handed the baby over to the woman without a qualm. She might not recognize Carol, but on some deeper level she instinctively trusted the woman.

  Martha served them soup as if there was nothing unusual about dining after midnight. Jeff tasted the clam chowder and his brow
s rose. “This is terrific.”

  “Carol’s a great cook,” Chelsea said, dipping her bread into her bowl and taking a bite.

  Jeff grinned. “Your memories are coming back.”

  “Just that one, I’m afraid.” Chelsea turned to face Carol, her eyes apprehensive. “Are we friends?”

  “Good ones. Anne, you and I roomed at Boston College together.”

  Jeff knew Chelsea must have a thousand questions about her past to ask, but her first thoughts were for Alex. “Do you know Alex’s father?”

  Carol’s mouth quirked in a frown, and she sighed. “Anne would never tell us. She didn’t want anyone to know.”

  “But why?” Jeff asked.

  “Apparently she only dated the father a few times. And she was deathly afraid of him.”

  The blood drained from Chelsea’s face: Jeff squeezed her shoulder. He didn’t like the implications of Carol’s words any more than Chelsea.

  Carol’s lips tightened in a grim line. “Anne never wanted Alex to know who his father was, so she never told anyone.”

  Jeff couldn’t imagine a father murdering his son’s mother. He felt so strongly that every child should have two parents that he’d decided never to marry, a responsibility he’d done his best to avoid.

  But something had sparked within him when he and Chelsea had made love and shared warmth and need. And for the instant of a heartbeat, he’d had a desperate desire to believe in forever. Still, he’d felt guilty making love to her; he’d had to remind himself she was a grown woman and the choice had been hers.

  Chelsea leaned forward, eager for an answer. “Why was Anne so afraid?”

  Carol spoke with precision. “She described her lover as…‘compulsive.’ That was her word for him. At first she was attracted to his good looks, his attention to detail, but when he started asking her to account to him for every minute of her day, she broke off their relationship. And he followed her.”

  Jeff finished his soup and pushed the bowl away. “Did she receive threatening phone calls?”