A Baby to Love

by Susan Kearney

  Another shot rang out, zinged across rock and echoed. It didn’t hit near them, but her body jerked.

  “I played water polo in college. We can do this.”

  “Swimming requires two hands. If Alex stays in that carrier, he’ll drown.”

  Jeff unsnapped the baby, removed the diaper that would absorb water and weigh him down and debated whether to kick off his sneakers. “I’ll swim sidestroke and keep his head above the water with my free hand.”

  “You want to risk Alex’s life on the fact you once played water polo?”

  “I’m still in shape.” He cupped her chin with his hands and kissed her hard on the mouth. She tasted so sweet, so cold. Gently he pulled back. “Trust me.”

  As a third shot rang out, he kept his sneakers on and lunged into the water. He stifled a gasp at the coldness, grateful that the unusually warm summer had heated the mountain lake to an endurable temperature. Still, his muscles stiffened at the icy cold, and Jeff wouldn’t have taken the baby in except under the direst circumstances. Oddly Alex didn’t seem to mind the cold water. His eyes opened wide, and he gurgled happily.

  Chelsea plopped in right next to him and let out a yelp. Thankfully she wasn’t a bad swimmer. And the baby took to swimming like a duckling. He cooed and grinned, kicking his little legs.

  Under other circumstances, a swim might have been fun.

  Except when Jeff squinted up at the cliff, a shadowy figure pointed a glittering weapon at them.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jeff scissor-kicked closer to Chelsea and placed his back between her and the danger on the cliff. Although she was a good swimmer, weighed down in clothes, it was slow going. Expecting a shot between the shoulder blades, he had to remind himself to take even breaths. Rehef washed through him when they swam around the protective side of the boat house without mishap.

  Dripping, they hurried to the house. Once inside, Jeff checked every room. Then, while Chelsea took Alex upstairs, Jeff locked the doors, checked the windows and drew assorted curtains, blinds and shades.

  In the guest room, Chelsea stripped Alex of his wet clothes and tried to calm the pounding of her heart. “There, that’s better. Now, after a warm bath, you’ll be warm and cozy.”

  At the sound of a footstep, she turned to the door, her heart leaping into her throat. As a silhouette with a baseball bat in hand eased out of the dim hallway, she jumped and let out a gasp. When she recognized Jeff, she twisted her mouth in a sheepish grin.

  He leaned the bat against the wall and handed her a towel. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “It’s okay. Did you call the cops?”

  “Yeah. If you want to dry off, I’ll hold Alex. I don’t think we should leave the little guy alone for a second.”

  Until this moment, she’d been too busy surviving and caring for Alex to dwell on the thought they could have been killed. The surge of adrenaline that helped her slide down the cliff and swim was wearing off. The floor seemed to tilt beneath her. She swayed on her feet.

  Jeff moved to her side and slipped his hand around her waist.

  His eyes darkened with concern. “Hey, you’re shaking. Relax.” He wrapped the towel around her shoulders and drew her into his arms.

  His heat chased away the chill. But no matter how much she wanted to lean on his strength, she was not about to allow him to pamper her and avoid talking about what had just happened—even if her suspicions clenched her stomach into a writhing coil.

  “How can I relax when someone could shoot the lock off the door and get in here?”

  Jeff picked up the bat. “I’ve called the police. They should be here soon. In the meantime, whoever is outside is probably gone.”

  She wanted to believe him. And the thought of a hot bath easing away the rest of her chill was damned appealing. But from the way he kept tapping the bat into his open palm, she suspected his words were more to reassure her than because he thought they were safe. He obviously didn’t think those shots had been from a hunter any more than she did. Although she was going on gut instinct, he might have a good reason. “Why don’t you think that shot was a hunter?”

  “It’s not hunting season. Plus I’m not positive, but I thought the gun sounded like a pistol, not a rifle. And…”

  She leaned against his side, relying on his strength to guide her and Alex down the hall, drinking in his warmth to banish her chill. “And what?”

  “I thought I saw a shadow on the cliff. Something metal glinted, and I could have sworn a pistol was pointed at you. But when I swam closer with Alex, the shot never came.”

  She stopped walking and shoved a dripping clump of hair from her eyes. “What are you saying?”

  “I think that whoever fired the gun didn’t want to risk hurting the baby. Carol may have been right. Your stalker, Anne’s murderer, is Alex’s father.”

  The peach fuzz on her arms stood on end. “Alex’s father doesn’t want to hurt his son—just me.” Her voice rose in panic, and her teeth chattered. “Why didn’t he just ask for visitation privileges?”

  “Because he killed Anne. Remember the landlady said they had blood samples at the scene of Anne’s murder? If Alex’s father tried to claim him, he’d have to take a blood test. The minute he did, he’d be arrested.”

  Downstairs Jeff’s portable telephone rang. He opened the bathroom door for her and then ran down the hall with the bat, his words coming from over his shoulder. “Run some hot water, and I’ll be right back to help with Alex.”

  With trepidation that the phone call would only bring more bad news, she entered the bathroom and partially pulled back the red-and-black shower curtain, bending to turn on the hot water.

  From over her shoulder, an arm shot out around her throat, crammed against her windpipe, cut off her air and yanked her back until her eyes focused on the gaping hole in the ceiling. Horror, biting and acrid, rose to clamp her chest in a vise.

  She was going to be murdered just like Anne. Her life would be over, right here, right now. She struggled against the arm clamped around her neck. She fought back a wave of nausea. She was never going to make love to Jeff again, never going to see Alex grow up.

  Poor baby. With her last strength, she clutched him to her chest.

  A grating, whispered voice rasped in her ear. “Put the boy on the floor.”

  Realizing it was best to put Alex down before she dropped him, Chelsea did as she was told.

  The pressure on her throat eased just enough for her to settle Alex on the rug. Then she was yanked backward against powerful, cruel strength. Her lungs ached, then burned.

  No, don’t give in.

  With the last of her waning stamina, she dug back with an elbow. She failed to free herself.

  She clutched the arm around her neck and strained downward in an attempt to draw breath. It was like trying to bend steel. She wasn’t strong enough. Her lungs strained for air.

  Willing herself not to give in to the encroaching darkness, she kicked vulnerable shins with her sneakers. Her attacker grunted but didn’t release her.

  By her feet, the baby cooed, his deep blue eyes staring into hers.

  Alex, baby, forgive me.

  Fire exploded in her chest. Her vision tunneled like a camera shutter flicking closed for the last time.

  Dizziness turned to blackness.

  JEFF REPLACED the receiver with a frown. The ringing had stopped just as he’d answered the phone. Hoping he hadn’t missed an important call from the police, he took the phone with him back upstairs just in case they might call again.

  Surprised not to hear the sounds of water raining down in the bath, Jeff went to see if Chelsea had delayed until he could take the baby. A wet, wriggling Alex could be quite the handful.

  The absolute quiet sent the first prickle of alarm down his spine. Alex was often cooing, and Chelsea usually talked to the baby. Jeff didn’t hear a sound.

  Taking the last steps three at a time, he raced down the hall and skidded to a stop i
n front of the gaping bathroom door. An open ceiling panel revealed where the intruder had hidden. Chelsea, unnaturally still, lay on the cold tile floor. Jeff’s knees almost buckled at the sight of her deadly pale face.

  Dropping to his knees, he reached for a pulse, noted the strangulation bruises around her neck, simultaneously checked her breathing. Oh, God. Nothing.

  He started CPR, never more thankful for his medical training than at that moment. Swiftly he calculated the time he’d been downstairs. It couldn’t have been more than a minute. If he could revive her quickly, there would be little chance of brain damage.

  Her heart started almost immediately, a good sign. And yet her lungs seems reluctant to respond. “Damn it, Chelsea. Fight. Come on, darling, you can do it. Breathe.”

  As his lips touched her cold ones and forced air into her lungs, fear he’d never known before socked him in the gut like a heavyweight’s knockout punch. She’d come to mean too much to him to lose her. He wanted her. He needed her. He loved her.

  And he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. He wanted to give her children; he wanted to watch her grow old.

  Why did it take an emergency before he’d admit the depth of his feeling for her? When she was with him, he could barely keep his gaze off her. He loved watching her laugh, he admired the courageous way she faced life and he’d never had another woman give so unstintingly of herself when they made love.

  Her passion had inserted itself into the fiber of his life. Even when they weren’t together, she was constantly in his thoughts. And the possibility of losing her now shot fear into his voice. “Breathe. Damn you, breathe. Alex needs you. I need you.”

  “WAKE UP. Damn it, Chelsea, wake up.” Jeff called to her, and she forced open her lids. She was lying on the bathroom floor. Jeff kneeled by her side, his face ashen. The worry lines radiating from the corners of his eyes had deepened, and his breath came in hard gasps.

  “What happened?”

  She fought the pain in her throat. “Choked. Where’s Alex?”

  He spoke softly while he checked her pupils. “When I found you, your heart had stopped. You weren’t breathing. I had to give you CPR and mouth-tomouth. I couldn’t go after Alex and leave you to die.”

  Go after Alex? In confusion, she looked to the spot where she’d last seen him.

  No. God, no. Please let Alex be safe in his crib.

  She struggled to rise from the bathroom floor. Her chest hurt. Talking was pure misery but a minor discomfort compared to the agony burning inside her.

  “Alex—?”

  “He’s gone. But I don’t think his father will hurt him.”

  “No!” She wished she could sink back into the blackness. She pounded Jeff’s chest with her fists. “No. I promised Anne. I promised—”

  “Shh.” Jeff ignored her feeble blows and drew her into his arms, pressed his cheek to hers while he rocked her against his chest. “We’ll get him back. We’ll find him.”

  She’d failed her best friend. She’d failed Alex. And she couldn’t remember one thing Anne might have told her to help find Alex’s father. Frustration and fear and rage surged through her.

  If only she could remember. Surely Anne must have told her something that would help them now. But try as hard as she could, nothing returned, not one shred of a thought, not a phrase, not a mental picture.

  She forced back a sob. “Did you see—?”

  “No. Whoever took him was gone before I came back upstairs. How about you? Did you see anyone?”

  “He came out of the ceiling, grabbed me from behind. He must have reached the house before we did.”

  Tears ran down her cheeks, and she angrily brushed them away with the back of her hand. “We’ve got to find Alex. Search the woods. Call the police. The FBI. The press.”

  “First you need to change out of these wet clothes and get into bed. The police will be here any minute.”

  “I’ll change but I’m not resting.”

  He started to protest, then must have seen the blaze of anger in her eyes and decided not to argue.

  THE LOCAL POLICE found nothing. After having Chelsea checked at the local hospital, Jeff and Chelsea stayed the night at the cabin and the next morning headed back to Chelsea’s house. If the kidnapper intended to try for a ransom that was the likeliest place for him to call.

  Despite Jeff’s urging, Chelsea hadn’t slept once the previous night. In turn she felt anger, outrage and emptiness. Deep in her heart, she knew Alex’s father would not call and ask for a ransom. He’d pursued Alex with horrifying intent.

  If they ever found Alex’s father, they would also have found Anne’s murderer. And the thought of her sweet, innocent baby in the hands of a murderer was enough to send her into tears. Except she had none left. She’d shed them all the night before, and not even Jeff’s arms could comfort her.

  On the long drive home, she’d slept fitfully.

  Anne came to her in her dream. “Promise me. Promise you won’t let anyone hurt Alex.”

  “I promise.”

  “And if something happens to me, you’ll buy a gun?”

  “Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

  “You’ll buy the gun, carry it with you to protect Alex?”

  “Yes. Yes. I promise.”

  A horn blared and Chelsea awakened with a start. Her hand moved to the car seat. Alex wasn’t there. For that first moment coming out of sleep, she’d forgotten. But then the numbing horror hit her with all the subtlety of a bulldozer. Alex was gone.

  Jeff glanced over at her. “You were mumbling in your sleep.”

  “I promised Anne if anything happened to her, I’d buy a gun and use it to protect Alex.”

  Jeff glanced across the empty seat at her. “You remember that?”

  “I dreamed it. But I know it happened.”

  “The dreams are probably your subconscious’ way of prodding your conscious mind to remember. It’s a good sign.”

  AFTER TWO STRAIGHT DAYS of waiting for the phone to ring, Chelsea had decided no one was going to call. Her nerves, frayed and tattered, jumped at the sound of Jeff coming up behind her in the den. The shot-out window, still boarded, and the bullet holes in the drywall were constant reminders of the violent man who had taken Alex.

  “Why don’t you go out for a while?”

  She shook her head. Although the walls had closed in so that she found it hard to breathe and all she wanted to do was run until she dropped in exhaustion, she couldn’t leave the phone. “Someone might call.”

  “I’ll stay.” He pressed his portable phone into her hand. “I’ll call if there’s any news. Go to the office and try and work. Maybe it will help take your mind off the endless waiting.”

  When she stepped out the front door, guilt stabbed Chelsea. She felt as though she was abandoning Jeff. And Alex. But she’d start screaming soon if she couldn’t do something positive.

  After what Carol had told her, she was sure Alex’s father was the kidnapper, yet the police still checked every suspect. And had come up with nothing. The Carpenters supposedly hadn’t left town. Their car was in the shop and it wasn’t the gray Toyota that she remembered following her to the restaurant but a white Lincoln.

  Martin Tinsdale had gone on a fishing trip with buddies over the weekend. When he’d returned, he hadn’t had the baby with him.

  The police had even questioned her copy editor, Vanessa, again, but she’d insisted she’d spent the weekend with her girlfriend. The cops were tracking down her story now, but Chelsea had no reason to suspect her.

  Even Ms. Kilcuddy, the kindly lady from foster care, had come under suspicion. But of course, she knew nothing, either.

  And no one could find Walter. Someone at her firm told the cops he often went deep-sea diving for the weekend. When he didn’t show for work Monday morning, the police put an all-points-bulletin out for her accountant.

  Damn. If only she could remember the man Anne had been running away from, it might lead her
to Alex.

  Jeff and she had torn the house apart from top to bottom in search of clues and ended up with nothing for their efforts. And yet maybe it was a leftover fragment from her dream, but something pulled at her memory, something she must have overlooked.

  Chelsea walked into her office, and Sandy stopped polishing the arm of one of the antique chairs. “Have you heard anything?”

  Chelsea swallowed hard. “Nothing yet.”

  Sandy wiped her hands on her skirt, her fire-enginered manicured nails skimming her emerald skirt. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “No, thanks. If I put any more caffeine into my system, I’ll be climbing the walls.”

  “Some herb tea, then?”

  “That would be great.” Now that she was here, Chelsea didn’t know why she’d bothered to come in. She checked the batteries on the cell phone for the fourth time, willing it to ring.

  But it was the office phone that rang. Sandy answered and handed her the receiver. “It’s your attorney.”

  Her heart leapt. The newspaper had mentioned his name, and perhaps the kidnapper had contacted him.

  “The Carpenters are dropping their custody suit,” her attorney said.

  Stunned, Chelsea wondered if they already had the baby. “What did they give for a reason?”

  “They said they didn’t want a flawed baby.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with Alex.”

  “But he has the genes of a murderer. Totally unacceptable to the Carpenters.”

  Chelsea hung up not knowing whether to laugh or cry. Focusing on work was impossible. Flopping into a chair, she pulled her address book into her lap and flipped through the pages. Maybe the answer was there.

  Many of the initials were now familiar to her. M.L. was Mark Lindstrom. W.B. was Walter Brund. C.O. was Carol Oxford. As she went through the entries from the past several months, her eyes focused on the word, “Obsession.” For the hundredth time, she wondered what the entry meant.

  “Here you go.” Sandy handed her a cup of tea. “Is that nice doctor you brought to the Benedict party still around?”