“You could be right,” she said. “And it’s too risky for him to attempt revenge himself. He has a pretty cushy setup in Savannah. He could ruin everything if he were caught.”
“What’s the next case?” An unidentifiable sound in a room off the living area caught his attention and he stiffened in alarm. “Did you hear that?”
“It’s okay.” Rachel smiled and shoved to her feet. “It’s my daughter. If she’s awake, she’s probably hungry.”
“Your daughter? You’re married?” Somehow that possibility hadn’t entered his short-circuited mind. Why was the thought so disappointing?
Rachel’s smile clouded. “I’m not married. It didn’t work out.”
“I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.”
She started to disagree, then stopped. “Don’t go to sleep. I’ll be right back.”
Knowing he was close to dropping off, he propped himself on his elbows to await her return.
You’ve really screwed things up big-time. No memory. A gunshot wound And a woman and child depending on you to keep them safe, when you can’t remember your own name, much less who’s out to kill you.
Frustrated and exhausted, he dropped back onto the pillows. In seconds he was sound asleep.
RACHEL PUSHED OPEN the bright plaid curtains, and the delicate, rosy light of dawn flooded the small bedroom. She and Stephen had talked the night away. Her daughter lay awake behind the barricade of pillows, kicking her chubby legs and grinning in the sunny manner that always melted Rachel’s heart.
“Good morning, pumpkin. Are you hungry?”
Jessica shook her head from side to side, her newest response in answer to everything.
Rachel leaned over and tickled her tummy. “You don’t fool me. You love to eat as much as your father—” She clamped her lips shut. She’d have to be careful what she said with Stephen in the next room.
Jessica giggled beneath her touch, stretched and gazed up with adoration in her deep brown eyes. Stephen’s eyes. At least, thanks to his amnesia, Rachel didn’t have to explain about Jessica or worry that he’d guess the child was his. Relieving her of that torment was the only good thing about his loss of memory.
With efficiency born of practice, she stripped off Jessica’s clothes and bathed her with a warm, damp cloth before dressing her in the last set of clean clothes from the diaper bag. She scooped her daughter into her arms and carried her into the living room, steeling herself for Stephen’s first sight of his daughter.
On the sofa, Stephen lay unmoving, eyes closed, the well-developed muscles of his chest rising and falling in the gentle rhythm of sleep.
With a strangled shout, she rushed to him. “Stephen, wake up!”
Her cry startled Jessica, who began to wail.
To Rachel’s relief, he opened his eyes and blinked in confusion. “What’s going on?”
“This is Jessica. She’s hungry.”
When his bleary gaze focused on the child in her arms, his expression transformed, softened, and his dark eyes brightened. “Hello, kiddo.”
At the sound of his voice, Jessica ceased sobbing, cast him a dazzling smile and held out her arms.
His reciprocal grin reflected his pleasure. “She likes me. May I hold her?”
“Your arm—”
“I have one good one. I can manage. I love kids.”
Rachel’s throat clogged with emotion as she lowered her daughter into Stephen’s arm. Although they’d never discussed the subject of children, she should have guessed his affinity for them. Whenever they’d interviewed children, Stephen had always established an immediate rapport, setting them at ease with his open friendliness. The youngsters somehow perceived his innate caring and cooperated with him, even when other law enforcement officers had been unable to get a word out of them.
As far back as her days at the academy, Rachel had noted that law enforcement seemed to draw recruits from two distinct personality types, those who yearned for the power and authority of the badge and the opportunity for dominance it often provided, and those who truly cared about people and wanted to help them. Stephen epitomized the latter category.
“How you doing, sweetheart?” he crooned to Jessica.
Jessica snuggled happily into the crook of his arm, reached up, and patted the dark stubble on his cheek with pudgy fingers. His expression as he contemplated his daughter made Rachel’s knees weak.
“She likes me,” he repeated without taking his eyes off the little girl.
“Children at that age are indiscriminate in their affection,” she replied, more sharply than she’d intended, and instantly regretted her loss of control.
He raised his head and narrowed his eyes, assessing her with a questioning glance.
“Sorry.” She could feel the heat creeping up her neck and face. “I didn’t mean to snap. I’m a bear when I don’t get my sleep.”
“No problem. I’ll hold her while you fix her breakfast.”
Rachel returned to the bedroom, dug into Jessica’s carryall for formula and a bottle and returned to the living room. She halted in the doorway, mesmerized by the sight of Stephen with Jessica in his arms. He was obviously enchanted by his daughter. Judging from Jessica’s giggles of delight, the feeling was mutual.
Rachel considered telling him the truth, but discarded the thought as quickly as it came. Stephen was engaged, perhaps even married by now. For all she knew, Anne Michelle could be expecting a child of their own. Rachel had to stay the course she’d taken over a year ago. Once she and Stephen had dealt with the threat that stalked them, she and Jessica would go their own way and not see him again. It was better like that. For everybody.
She stepped into the living room and approached the sofa.
Stephen nodded at the bottle in her hand. “May I feed her?”
Unable to think of a reason to refuse, Rachel handed him the bottle. “I’ll fix your breakfast. You need to rebuild your strength.”
She tore her gaze from the sight of Jessica nestled in the crook of his right arm, her tiny hands clasping his big one that held her bottle, and hurried into the kitchen before he could spot the tears in her eyes.
Thrusting sentimental notions away, she browsed the cabinets and freezer, searching for breakfast ingredients. Whoever owned the cabin kept it well stocked. Within minutes she had oatmeal with cinnamon and raisins simmering on the stove and sausage patties sizzling in a frying pan.
She placed dishes and flatware on the table beside a window that overlooked the valley and distant mountain ridges. It was going to be one of those perfect autumn days, cool and crisp, without a cloud in the sky.
Perfect, except for the faceless danger that stalked them.
Later, after she had put Jessica down for her morning nap and washed the breakfast dishes, she joined Stephen, who sat in a comfortable chair before the fire, eyes closed, his skin pale in spite of his tan. He opened his eyes at her approach and smiled with a warmth that hit her like a mule kick, bringing home with a vengeance how much she’d missed him.
“Tell me about our other cases,” he said.
“Are you sure you’re up to this? You should be resting.” She sank into the chair opposite him.
“I can rest later. For now, we should compile a list of likely suspects.”
“We worked another kidnapping, right before Margaret Maitland’s, a two-day-old infant stolen from County Hospital while her mother was sleeping.” Her stomach knotted at the memory. Only now that she had Jessica could she truly understand the panic and devastation of the parents at the disappearance of their child.
“Did we find her?”
“Hospital security cameras captured on video an unknown couple, a young woman and middle-aged man, wandering the halls of the maternity wing. We gave the tape to local television stations, and they ran it on the evening news. Within minutes we had a call from the owner of a motel on I-95. He recognized the couple.”
“They’d registered under their real names?”
/>
She shook her head. “Too smart for that, but not smart enough. We picked up prints off the motel registration card. They belonged to Willard Straith of Clover, South Carolina.”
“He had a record?”
“His prints were on file because he worked in a defense plant outside Rock Hill. With agents from the Charlotte and Columbia offices, we surrounded his house. Our primary goal was to retrieve the baby—unharmed.”
That day was etched in her mind forever. Stephen had been first through the door. While others subdued the couple, he had gathered the infant in his arms and carried her outside to safety. A photographer had caught him emerging from the house, the tiny baby appearing even more minuscule in the muscular arms of the six-foot-two agent. But it was the tenderness on Stephen’s face that had captured the attention of newspaper editors around the country and won the hearts of women all over the nation. For weeks afterward, he’d received hundreds of love letters and proposals of marriage.
“Did we?” he broke into her reminiscence.
“Did we what?”
“Find the baby safe?”
She told him about the rescue and his resulting notoriety.
“What happened to the kidnappers?” he asked.
“They were convicted and sentenced three months ago. The news was carried in the local papers.”
He looked thoughtful. “Could they have hired someone to carry out their revenge?”
“I doubt it. First of all, they were dirt poor. And they weren’t vindictive people. It was sad, really. They wanted a baby so bad, they weren’t thinking straight.”
“What about the women who wrote to me? Could one of them be our threat? ‘Hell hath no fury’ and all that?”
She grinned. “You handled that situation well. You hired a secretarial firm to send a letter to everyone who wrote to you—a very pleasant form letter—and you signed each one personally. There were probably a lot of disappointed females as a result, but I can’t imagine one enraged enough to turn murderous.”
“Stranger things have been known to happen.”
Rachel shook her head. “If this threat came from one of your admirers, why would she come after me?”
“Jealousy?” His dark eyes twinkled. “After all, you were my partner.”
“But anyone who knew us would have told her we were just friends,” she insisted quickly. Her heart ached with how much she’d missed him these past long months.
“Anyone who obsesses over a newspaper photo of a stranger is a few sandwiches short of a picnic. We’re not talking logic here. Did I keep a list of the names and addresses?”
She laughed. “Absolutely. You’re a world-class pack rat. You never throw anything away. Not even when you had to pay to have it hauled to Atlanta when you moved.”
He didn’t return her smile. “If the list is at my place in Atlanta, it doesn’t do us much good here.”
“I know.” She sighed. “Maybe I should contact Jason or Stan.”
“Who are they?”
“Jason Bender and Stan Lewolsky—agents we worked with in the Savannah office. We could ask them to help us.”
“No!” His shout reverberated off the cabin walls. He glanced guiltily toward the room where Jessica slept, then said in a lower tone, “Don’t ask how I know, but something tells me not to trust anybody.”
“Trust no one?” She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “No wonder they call you Mulder behind your back.”
“Mulder? The X-Files guy?” He slammed his fist against the arm of the chair. “How the hell can I remember TV trivia, but not the things that are important?”
“The brain’s a mysterious thing. Even now, medical science is only beginning to map its functions.” She leaned toward him and covered his fist with her hand. “Let me take you to a doctor.”
“My instincts nix that idea, too.”
Reluctantly she drew her hand from his comforting warmth. “Your instincts were always on target. We’ll have to go with them. For now, they’re all we’ve got.”
They sat in silence, the only sound in the room the occasional pop and hiss of the fire. Stephen stared at the flames as if searching for answers there. Under different circumstances, the two of them in a cozy mountain cabin on a glorious fall day could have been relaxing and fun, but the knowledge that a killer was on their trail stole all the pleasure from the day.
“Were we ever threatened by any of the criminals we put away?” Stephen finally asked.
Rachel searched her memory. “A couple of them made death threats. Kevin Larson swore he’d kill us both.”
“Where is he now?”
“The federal penitentiary.” She smiled, remembering. “Even if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be much of a threat. He was too big a klutz.”
“What was his crime?”
“He robbed a branch bank on the outskirts of Savannah, but we were waiting for him when he reached his home.”
“We were that good?” Stephen lifted his dark brows in amazement.
She shook her head. “Larson was that stupid. He was in such a hurry to escape, he dropped his wallet in the bank parking lot. We showed the photo on his driver’s license to the tellers, who identified him. Then we drove to the address on his license. We arrived an hour ahead of him. He’d stopped at a supermarket to buy cleansers to remove the ink from the bank’s dye pack from his clothes and car.”
Stephen ran his fingers through his thick hair and winced when they grazed the knot on his temple. His frustration was evident. “Anyone else make threats?”
“Johnny Slade, but he’s in the federal pen, too.”
“On what charges?”
“Racketeering and money laundering. This guy’s vicious, and he has connections with the mob.”
“A mob hit man might have used the .22 caliber that shot me.”
“It’s possible, but if true, it means we really are dealing with a nameless, faceless killer.”
Stephen’s features contorted suddenly with pain.
“What is it?” she asked. “Your head?”
“My arm. Hurts like the devil.”
“I’ll get you more painkillers. And it’s time I changed that bandage.”
Retrieving the first aid kit from the kitchen, she shuddered at the possibility of a mob hit man on their trail. A hired assassin was devoid of compassion, a man who could kill a child with as little remorse as he felt for his adult victims. She had to get Jessica away from here, to safety. She checked on her daughter, whose sleep was undisturbed by the danger that stalked them, and returned to Stephen.
“Take off your shirt,” she said.
With his right hand, he unfastened the buttons of the plaid flannel shirt, then shrugged it off his shoulders. She couldn’t help wondering what all those lovestruck women would have thought if they’d seen this picture on the front page of their newspaper. She tore her gaze from the delicious sight of his bare chest and focused on his wounded arm. The bandage was barely soiled, a sign that the bleeding had ceased.
While he sat stoically beneath her care, she cut the gauze away, cleaned his wound and applied a fresh bandage. She handed him more caplets and a glass of water.
“We have to talk,” she said after he’d swallowed them.
“I thought that’s what we’ve been doing.”
“Not about cases.” She settled again into the chair across from him. “About Jessica.”
He cocked his head to one side in a gesture that swamped her with memories. “Jessica?”
“She isn’t safe here.”
“We don’t know that for sure.”
“If a mob hit man is after me and she’s with me, she isn’t safe.”
He leaned back against the headrest. “What do you suggest?”
“I want to take her to my parents in Raleigh.”
“Not a good idea.”
“It’s the best I can think of.” She set her mouth in a determined line.
“Is it?” His dark eyes bored into hers. �
�What if someone’s staking out your parents’ place, hoping you’ll show up? You could put yourself, your parents and Jessica in danger by going there.”
“So I just sit here and wait? This cabin is safe only as long as no one knows we’re here, and with your memory gone, we can’t be sure of that. And, if someone does come after us, there’s only one road off the mountain. We’d be cut off, without escape.”
“We’re both armed.” He nodded toward the shoulder holster with his Glock pistol she had hung across a ladder-back chair.
“My point, exactly. I don’t want Jessica caught in a cross fire.” She yawned, fighting the cumulative effects of twenty-four hours without sleep. “Without your memory, you can’t tell me whether anyone knows we’re here. I don’t want Jessica at risk.”
“Taking her to Raleigh places her at risk, and you, too.” He leaned toward her and placed his hand on her knee. “You’re exhausted. You’ll think more clearly after you’ve had some sleep.”
“If I sleep, what will keep you from dozing off again?”
His expression turned grim. “Knowing someone’s out there, looking for us.”
She would have argued with him, but she was too tired. “Wake me in a couple hours, okay?”
He nodded, and she went into the bedroom, curled up beside her slumbering daughter and almost instantly dropped off to sleep.
She dreamed of hordes of men in camouflage clothes and balaclavas, storming the mountaintop. She and Stephen fought them off until their ammunition ran out.
“Take Jessica and run!” Stephen shouted.
“Where is she? I can’t find her.”
Awaking with a start, she reached for her daughter, but the bed was empty. The acrid taste of fear filled her mouth, and her pulse raced in panic. She had been asleep for hours, judging from the angle of the sunlight in the room. How long had Jessica been gone?
She leaped to her feet and dashed into the living room. It, too, was deserted.
Jessica and Stephen were gone.
Chapter Five
Where had they gone?
Her heart pounded as her mind raced, envisioning all kinds of scenarios—all of them too frightening to contemplate. Had Stephen taken Jessica, or had someone else abducted them both?
Undercover Dad Page 6