A Baby to Love

by Susan Kearney

  “I don’t know what I’d have done without him. Instead of taking his vacation, he’s at my house, waiting to be contacted in case the kidnapper calls.”

  Sandy wiped imaginary dust from the desk. “And your memory?”

  “I’ve started to dream about my past. Jeff says that’s a good sign.”

  “Your voice changes when you talk about your doctor.”

  So her feelings about Jeff were that obvious? When Chelsea sipped her tea without commenting, Sandy continued. “I wish I could fall in love.”

  “Are you dating someone special?”

  “I was.” Her secretary hesitated as if debating whether to say more. Although they’d grown closer, they had not come to the point where they confided personal secrets.

  “And?” Chelsea prodded, more to pass time than out of any real curiosity.

  “At first I thought he was the greatest. He’s easy on the eyes and treats a girl nice. Doesn’t mind spending money on me, either. Then I started to notice little things that bothered me.”

  Chelsea no longer had to fake an interest. “What kind of things?”

  “Well, you know how I like a clean office? I keep my house the same way. But this guy stops the car on the freeway to clean the windshield if a bug flies into it. Before he makes love, he folds his clothes. He’s compulsive.”

  “Compulsive.” Oh, God! Compulsive was the word Carol had used to describe Anne’s boyfriend. Every nerve ending felt raw, and she could barely sit still. But surely Sandy and Anne couldn’t have been dating the same man?

  “And he told me he was single, not divorced. Yet this morning when I called, I heard a baby crying in the background. I think he’s lying to me.”

  Chelsea dropped her teacup. There were too many coincidences for this to be an accident. Anne’s killer had been keeping track of Chelsea through her secretary—that’s how he’d found her at Jeff’s cabin.

  Had she been so obtuse not to pick up the fact that Sandy had been dating Walter? The police said Walter hadn’t come back from his dive trip, but Sandy knew where he was.

  Her voice trembled. “Sandy, where is Walter?”

  Sandy’s forehead furrowed. “I have no idea.”

  “But you said you called him this morning and heard a baby crying. I assumed—”

  “I’ve been seeing Mark Lindstrom.”

  The name hit her like a sucker punch to the upper jaw. Her head reeled, but she was already running toward the door. She recalled Mark’s fastidious military dress, his habit of cleaning his glasses with little square tissues, his taking Alex at the party. Everything fit.

  And, once again, the word “Obsession” tugged at her memory.

  “Mark’s got Alex. He’s been following me—using you to find me. Call Jeff and tell him to have the police meet me at Mark’s place.”

  She skidded to a halt and looked back at her stunned secretary. Sandy’s face had paled when she realized she’d been used. “I’ve been a fool.”

  “Count yourself lucky. I think Mark Lindstrom murdered Anne. Now, what’s his address?”

  Chapter Twelve

  When the phone rang, Jeff pounced on the receiver. But the kidnapper, not Sandy, was the person he’d hoped would call.

  “Chelsea asked me to tell you that we think Mark Lindstrom has Alex.”

  “What?”

  “We think Mark is the baby’s father.”

  Sweat beaded his brow and trickled down his cheeks. The news pummeled him like a ten-pound sledgehammer pounding his head. “Where’s Chelsea? I gave her the cell phone. Why didn’t she call me?”

  “She was in a hurry to find Mark. She asked me to call you and then have the police meet her at Mark’s.” Quickly Sandy gave him the address, an expensive part of town by the bay.

  Jeff wrote it down, told Sandy to call Detective Burdett and then dialed his cell phone. Come on. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.

  “Your call cannot be completed at this time. The customer you dialed may have reached their destination or—”

  Jeff slammed down the receiver. Surely she knew better than to single-handedly confront Anne’s killer?

  For Jeff, the trip to Mark’s apartment was endless. He seemed to make no progress. All he could do was sit and wait for the traffic jam to clear.

  And as if the traffic wasn’t enough to delay him, the overcast skies suddenly opened. Slicing, needlepointed bullets of rain shot at the windshield hard enough to puncture his heart and shatter his soul.

  Guilt overwhelmed him. If he hadn’t pressured her to go out, she wouldn’t have been alone. In danger.

  Trapped in traffic, Jeff leaned on the horn.

  AH, EITHER CHELSEA had finally solved the puzzle or her memory had returned. Either way, Mark had prepared for this moment, welcomed a tidy resolution.

  He replaced the phone, well-satisfied his C-note to the doorman had paid off. Opening the blind, he peered with his binoculars through the cleansing rain to the street below.

  There she was by the fishing shed, her nose pinched tight against the smell. Such a filthy place. Her eyes, wide with fear, looked up as if to guess his position.

  Fool. Although she’d evaded death, he’d stayed one step ahead of her.

  And now he was ready to put his last plan into action. Moving to the kitchen, he wiped the counter and a smudge print on the toaster. The kid had messed up his schedule, to say nothing of the tidy bathroom, but all was back under control.

  He lifted the soap sideways to balance on the edges of the container so the bottom of the bar wouldn’t go soft. After straightening the dishcloth, he was ready to take on Chelsea Connors.

  She’d interfered with his plans too many times to survive. And the doctor would be next. Then Carol Oxford.

  Finally he and Alex would be alone, and the child would come to love him the way a son should. Anne had deserved to die for attempting to hide his son from him. And her friend Chelsea was no different.

  Soon she’d be dead, too.

  CHELSEA PULLED UP to a marina across the street from an elegant brick-and-granite apartment building. Mark’s apartment. But from her parking spot, she couldn’t keep the front entrance in sight. Despite the angry, dark storm clouds thundering overhead, she opened her car door against slapping-cold rain and stepped out. With her back to the gray Chesapeake churning with whitecaps, she scoured the busy apartment entrance and searched for a tall man in uniform and a baby.

  Wind-driven rain matted her hair to her head within seconds of exiting her car. A rush of air whipped her jacket. She shivered but knew better than to approach the protection of the apartment building while she waited for the police.

  Huddling in the three-sided, roofed shed where fishermen cleaned their catch, she counted the windows ten stories up and tried to ignore the fetid odor of rockfish, terrapin and hard crab. Tilting her head and shading the rain from her eyes, she wondered which apartment belonged to Mark Lindstrom.

  When water trickled down her jacket and her neck cramped, she took in the busy street. Storefronts lowered storm shutters to protect the glass from flying objects. A French poodle barked. People huddled under newspapers, and the wind blew one poor woman’s umbrella until it tore from her hands and tumbled across the apartment parking lot. She chased it, catching up only when the umbrella wedged against a gray Toyota.

  From here, the Toyota’s rental tag was plainly visible, and Chelsea’s heart thundered. Mark had rented a car to follow her from work to where she’d met Jeff for dinner.

  No wonder Anne had been taken in. Mark had fooled them all.

  If she thought he would do the baby any harm, she would have been less patient. But she fretted over Mark’s violent temper, which Anne had told her about. As she huddled from the wind and rain, shivering, Chelsea’s memories returned. Not in bits and pieces, but as if a door unlocked in her mind to bid her entrance to the entire array of emotions, experiences, hopes and dreams.

  Just as Carol said, Anne had never told either of them Mark�
��s name. Anne hadn’t wanted anyone ever to tell her son about his father, about what kind of monster Mark Lindstrom was or that she’d lived in terror of him finding her.

  On the second date, Mark had raped Anne. Afterward he’d stalked her, telling her if she pressed charges he’d kill her.

  Without telling Mark she’d become pregnant, Anne changed jobs, moved across the bay, had her baby. She’d thought she’d been safe.

  But Mark had been clever, persistent, patient.

  In the rain, chills shook Chelsea. Mark’s cunning ruthlessness froze her to the bone. He’d waited for Anne to deliver Alex, then murdered her, probably not counting on Anne fighting back with enough strength to spill his blood.

  Unable to come forward and claim the baby without taking a genetic test that would match the blood at Anne’s house and tie him to the murder scene, he’d resorted to kidnapping. Chelsea recalled the distaste on Mark’s face when Alex drooled on his uniform and prayed the insanely compulsive man wouldn’t hurt an innocent baby.

  Behind her, boats slammed against the dock, the halyards clanging against the sailboats’ masts. The thunder and lightning had petered out, but the downpour never let up, and a deep fog rolled in. The foul odors of fish, stale gasoline and diesel fumes caused her stomach to clench.

  Where were the cops?

  She stepped from the protection of the fishing shed and gazed down the street, looking for Jeff. The cafés along the waterfront had lowered their awnings, their patrons moved inside.

  Realizing she’d left the cell phone in the car, she walked toward it, keys in hand. She’d call the police herself.

  A hard, metal object pressed into her side, and she dropped her keys on the pavement. A gun. Fear, pulsating and hard, drenched her in sweat. In contrast, her mouth went cottony dry.

  “We’re going for a nice boat ride,” Mark Lindstrom growled into her ear. “You, me and Alex.” Keeping the gun gouged into her rib, he spun her around.

  The memory of Mark’s gloating face right before he’d struck Chelsea’s head at Anne’s house caused her legs to weaken, her stomach to churn with nausea. He was the one responsible for her amnesia. He’d meant to kill her. Would have succeeded if not for the neighbor’s dog.

  With a cruel twist of her arm, Mark forced her onto the slick dock. He suddenly thrust a crying Alex into her arms. She clasped her baby to her breast, and his crying eased as he recognized her. Sheltering the baby under her jacket as best she could, she slid and slipped as Mark dragged her toward the marina.

  “Where are you taking—?”

  “Shut up.”

  She knew she should keep him talking, delay him until the police arrived. But when she opened her mouth, he jabbed the gun into her ribs so hard her knees buckled.

  She lost a shoe and kicked off the other, hoping Jeff would find them, that Jeff would look for her. Mark paid no attention, dragging her barefoot through the pelting rain onto a floating dock that pitched and heaved with the waves.

  Like in the fairy tale Hansel and Gretel, she wished to leave a trail—but of something more substantial than bread crumbs. Except the sea would wash away any item she dropped. The waves crashed over the dock, the seawater warm on her feet compared to the icy sluice of rain.

  Bundled beneath her jacket, the baby made a warm spot against her chest. She hugged him tightly and wished she had the strength to jump with him into the sea. But even if she was willing to risk swimming with Alex the way Jeff had, Mark clutched her arm too tightly to break away.

  He led her past boat slips filled with yachts, both power and sail, and several small dinghies.

  “There.” He pointed to a small rowboat. “Get in.”

  Horror coursed down her back. Surely he didn’t mean to escape in such a small craft in the raging sea? She dragged her feet, but his brutal grip on her arm yanked her forward.

  While he untied the bowline, she took off her watch, dropped it and used her toes to wedge it in the crack between two boards. She considered running. But there was no cover, only a straight path that would give him the easy target of her back. She took a good look at the weapon and recognized her gun—the one Anne made her promise to buy if anything violent happened, she noted painfully.

  He pulled the boat closer and gestured with the gun. “Get in.”

  She stepped carefully into the bobbing boat. Not an easy feat while holding a baby. As soon as she sat, Mark nimbly jumped in and picked up his oars. In the distance, sirens wailed. But the police would cautiously search Mark’s apartment building before even considering the dock. And until Jeff arrived, no one would know she was missing.

  Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

  She realized her voice might carry over the water. “Why are you doing—?”

  Mark’s eyes gleamed with an insane light. He tilted an oar to her head in an unmistakable threat.

  She ceased talking. The slim chance of being heard above the storm wasn’t worth being knocked out and of no use to Alex. Mark continued to row, his shoulder muscles bulging. Lord, where was he taking them? If he just wanted to kill her, he could easily do it now. The fact that he hadn’t done so didn’t reassure her. Knowing the way he’d stalked and planned Anne’s murder, she suspected he wouldn’t kill out of passion or rage but ruthlessly, cold-bloodedly, with a meticulously planned, foolproof scheme.

  She didn’t want to die. After losing and regaining her memory, she’d recalled her family, a mother in California with whom she hadn’t spoken in over a year after some silly fight. Her father had died, but she had aunts and uncles and cousins. She had her love for Jeff. And she had a son.

  No rotten SOB was going to take her life without a fight. But as the rowboat moved away from the dock and into the fog, hope seeped from her with every rolling gray wave that took her farther from land. If he planned to dump her overboard at sea and let the crabs feast on her flesh, it might be years before her bones washed ashore.

  Jeff and her mother would never know what happened to her. Worse, little Alex would grow up with a maniac for a father.

  Mark gritted his teeth against the rowing, his face flung up to the rain in glee. His lips smiled coolly as if he weren’t about to kill her, but had asked to escort her for a ride in the park.

  He’s enjoying my fear, the bastard. Every time she shuddered, his lips turned up, his eyes brightened.

  How well he had planned. Seeking her out for an advertising campaign through Classy Creations, keeping apprised of her whereabouts by dating her secretary.

  Ahead the sound of the sea changed, stilling as if in the eye of a hurricane. The wind died a bit. And she raised her head and squinted through the fog.

  They were on the protected side of a sailboat. Then the sailboat swirled into the wind, and the rowboat pulled up to the transom.

  She heard an echo of Anne’s voice as she read, across the rear of the boat in bold black letters, the boat’s name.

  Obsession.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jeff squealed to a stop in front of Mark’s apartment complex, double-parking in the street. The police had already cordoned off the building. He’d spotted Chelsea’s car, but when he couldn’t find her in the crowd standing behind the barriers, bile rose in his throat.

  Where was she? Think. She’d probably arrived before everyone else. Taken refuge out of the rain.

  He spun in a circle to look for shelter and spied the fish shed near her car. Sprinting to the spot, he leapt over a puddle and glimpsed something shiny in the water. Halting, he turned and plucked keys from the puddle. But were they Chelsea’s?

  He tried the door of her car, and the click of the door lock sent a shudder through him. Grabbing the cell phone, he stuck it in his pocket and then turned back to look at the marina. Chelsea had dropped her keys halfway between her car and the shed. Had it been accidental?

  He looked back at the apartment building. The police had positioned their SWAT team. They’d probably call Mark on the phone and try to talk him into releasi
ng the baby. Jeff debated over telling the police that Chelsea could be inside, a hostage to a madman.

  But the police wouldn’t go in shooting, not with the baby’s life at stake, and if Chelsea had tried to leave clues to her disappearance, every moment could count. Jeff forced himself to walk slowly, his gaze scanning the ground, the docks, the water.

  A dark spot on the dock caught his eye. Blood?

  Despite his plan to search carefully, he broke into a trot. And almost skidded over Chelsea’s shoes. The choppy seas breaking over the dock forced him to slow his pace, but he didn’t turn back. Five minutes later, he plucked her watch from between two boards.

  Smart woman. She’d definitely left him a trail.

  But now he was at a dead end.

  Just a couple of rowboats bounced against the dock. Had Mark drowned her? He pushed away the devastating thought of her body lying under the gray sea.

  If not to kill her, why would Mark bring her out here to a dead end? Because it wasn’t a dead end.

  With watch, shoe and keys in hand, Jeff raced back to the police. He found Detective Burdett conferring with someone from the SWAT team and rudely barged into their conversation. “After Chelsea found out Mark had kidnapped the baby, she came here. I found her keys in a puddle—” Jeff pointed “—and this shoe was farther down the dock. And her watch wedged between two planks.”

  “You think Lindstrom’s got her?” Burdett asked. Without waiting for an answer, he radioed the coast guard and requested a small plane to search the bay.

  Within minutes the coast guard radioed back that Mark Lindstrom kept a sailboat, Obsession, at the marina. But the fog would prevent a plane from spotting a vessel from the air. By water the coast guard would try to find the boat, but in this fog, with miles of coastline to search and hundreds of harbors in which to hide, they didn’t have much hope until the weather cleared.

  Jeff turned away before the cops could read the desperation in his eyes. He knew in his heart, if they waited until the weather cleared, Chelsea would be dead.

  Returning to his car, he backed away from the crowd and drove toward the park. Praying Garrick was on duty at med-evac, he placed a call to his friend.