Hero in the Nick of Time

by Marie Ferrarella

  If anyone had asked, Mac would have sworn that used dust rags had more available energy than she had at this moment. And yet, something was beginning to sweetly stir at the feel of his lips along her skin.

  “In this case, it would be coupled with the word bravo. But I believe that part’s up to you.”

  “To us,” he corrected her, his voice low, his breath rippling along her skin. “To us.”

  Cade pulled up the hand brake on the car but remained where he was. They were parked at the curb of a street within a quiet, residential neighborhood. Tall, imported trees with ponderous foliage lined both sides of the street. Except for the song of a bird or two, there was no noise. It was hardly the place one would have thought babies were being sold to the wealthiest couples.

  Taylor had called them less than an hour ago, giving them directions to where they would be allowed to meet the child they had “selected.” Heather. Supposedly Heather’s mother was to be there, waiting for payment. A bogus check for twenty-five thousand dollars was in Mac’s purse. It was, Taylor had specified, to be made out to his firm.

  After Taylor’s call, Cade and Mac had gotten into the car immediately, driving fast, afraid that some last-minute change would rob them of their dearly sought goals.

  Mac hadn’t said five words since they’d gotten the call. She sat in the passenger seat, her shoulders as rigid as a model soldier’s. Cade placed a hand over hers. “Nervous?”

  She had been at first, but she was miles past that feeling now.

  His question galvanized her. “I’m too angry to be nervous,” she told him as she opened the car door.

  Mac looked at Cade. “All I want to do right now is to see some action.”

  Cade didn’t doubt it. Didn’t doubt, either, that her anger, once aroused, could go a long way in equalizing her to someone bigger in size. The woman was a veritable wildcat when she made love; furious, she was probably a force of nature to be reckoned with.

  He suppressed the smile the image of a pumped-up McKayla rendered. He closed the door on his side. “Remind me never to get you angry at me.”

  “Deal.”

  Mac’s eyes never left the small, one-story house Taylor had sent them to. The house, he had told them, belonged to a go-between. A woman who took in pregnant girls down on their luck. A woman who undoubtedly lulled unsuspecting girls into trusting her before she persuaded them to sign their babies away.

  Or, in this case, aided and abetted the kidnapping of children for monetary gain.

  Mac wanted to rip her heart out and stomp on it

  A great many revelations had occurred during the short space of time she’d been involved in regaining Heather. She’d never known she was capable of such a wide spectrum of emotions, good and bad.

  Someone was going to have to impersonate Heather’s mother, Mac thought as they came up the short walk to the front door. Would it be Shirley Lambert or someone else in the organization? She couldn’t help wondering how many so-called actors and actresses were involved in this ugly business. Would they get them all? Or would some escape, like a virus that couldn’t be fully contained, and allowed to spread in some other place? God, she hoped not.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Mac noticed Cade looking around. He was edgy. She’d come too far not to trust his instincts. “What’s the matter?”

  It could be nothing, but Cade didn’t think so. “I don’t see Taylor’s car, do you?” Thorough to the last detail, they had gotten that kind of information through Redhawk.

  Mac’s eyes swept over both sides of the street. He was right. “No. Maybe he parked in their garage.” It didn’t seem likely. The garage door was closed.

  “Maybe.” It was apparent from his tone that he didn’t think so, either.

  They walked up the five steps to the front door and rang the bell. When there was no answer, Cade rang again. Still nothing.

  Exchanging looks, Mac impatiently indicated the door. Of like mind, Cade tried the knob. To his surprise, it gave. The door wasn’t locked. But as Mac took a step forward to enter, he held his hand up, blocking her. He didn’t like this. He didn’t know why and wasn’t able to explain it to himself, much less to Mac, but he just didn’t like it. Something wasn’t right.

  Motioning Mac behind him, knowing she wouldn’t remain outside, Cade slowly walked in, a man taking the first step across a minefield.

  The image of the handgun with its long, disfiguring silencer registered in the split second before Cade threw himself to the floor, simultaneously pulling Mac down with him. The sickening sound of bullets, muted in their journey, registered as they flew over their heads. In a half crouch, Cade scrambled for cover behind a flowered, overstuffed sofa with Mac directly in his shadow.

  Mac didn’t have time to think, just react. The air still partially knocked out of her by the fall, she dove for the protection the sofa afforded, pressing herself against it.

  She jerked her head up in time to see a gun materialize in Cade’s hand. How long had he had that with him? The thought ricocheted through her head, mimicking the beat of the weapon as Cade returned fire. The sound exploded as she watched the bullet take down the man she recognized as the private detective who had been tailing them.

  This is all wrong.

  The uneasy thought beat an edgy tattoo in her breast. She felt numb and stunned all at the same time as she tried to make sense out of what had just happened.

  They’d been set up.

  Beside her, Cade was on his feet again.

  He wanted the hired thug masquerading as a private investigator to have no opportunity to get a second drop on them. Blood was flowing from the man’s wound, seeping in between his fingers as he pressed his hand to his shoulder. Luck only held for so long before it shredded. He kept his gun trained on the man.

  “McKayla, find something to tie him up with,” Cade ordered.

  There was nothing in the immediate area that seemed strong enough to use. Mac hurried into the garage. Tossing cans and boxes around that were in her way, she finally found a length of hemp. The coarse rope bit into her flesh as she yanked it up from beneath some boards.

  Flying back into the house, she quickly tied the P.I.’s hands behind his back, ignoring the violent volley of curses.

  “Where’s Heather?” she demanded.

  Loathing flared in the brown eyes. “Who the hell is Heather?”

  Cade spun the man around so that he faced him squarely. “The little girl Taylor thought we wanted to adopt.”

  The detective warily eyed the weapon that was close to his temple. “I don’t know anything about any little girl.” Sweat began to ooze along his forehead. “Hey, look, I’m bleeding all over the place here. This is all just a big mistake.”

  “Yeah, and you made it.” The need for discretion had passed. It was obvious that Taylor and Lambert were on to them. They had to act fast now. Cade cocked the trigger. “Where is he holding the kids?”

  “Beats me.”

  “Don’t think I won’t,” Cade growled.

  The temptation to vent his frustration was great, but he managed to contain himself. Shoving the man ahead of him, he pushed him to the open door.

  “Shall I call 911, Mr. Taylor?” his secretary asked, remaining where she’d been pushed by the young woman who was now storming mto his office.

  The slim microphone he was dictating into slid from his fingers as if they had suddenly become boneless. The first thought that telegraphed itself through his mind was that he’d thought these two had been taken care of.

  Mac answered for Taylor. “Yes, why don’t you do that?” She shifted her eyes to the lawyer, making no effort to suppress the loathing she felt. “Call 911. Ask for Lieutenant Graham Redhawk while you’re at it. I’m sure he and Mr. Taylor would find a great deal to talk about, wouldn’t you, Taylor?”

  Taylor’s eyes hardened. With a flick of his wrist, he waved his secretary away. “Never mind, Eugenia. I can handle this.”

  “I wouldn’t be
t on it this time.” Cade’s voice was low and all the more dangerous for its steely sound. He saw the lawyer wince involuntarily as he approached. “What happened? Why weren’t you at the house?”

  Taylor’s eyes darted toward the doorway. “Where’s Fowler?”

  Cade raised a brow, looking at Taylor with mild interest. “You mean the man you sent to kill us? Right now, he’s at the police precinct.” Cade leaned in, bringing his face close to Taylor’s so that the man heard every syllable, every nail being hammered into his coffin. “If you concentrate really hard, you can feel him rolling over on you right about now.”

  A slight edge of panic began to prick at Taylor. He was to have remained above all this, above the dirty details and the consequences. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  His patience dangerously limited, Cade yanked Taylor up by his shirt, literally pulling him out of his chair. “Then try concentrating a little harder. I’m talking about kids, Taylor. Innocent little kids snatched from their families and used in the dirty little business you and Lambert are running.”

  “I don’t know—”

  Cade’s hold tightened, cutting Taylor’s air supply by half. “You deny it again, and I’m going to rip your tongue out, tie it in a knot and make you swallow it.”

  “You’re a madman.” Gasping for air, Taylor shifted furtive eyes toward the woman, but her expression gave him no more to hope for than her partner’s did. He thought of shouting for help, but knew that was futile even before he attempted it.

  “Yes, I am, mad as hell.” Cade struggled with the very real urge to snuff Taylor’s insignificant life out. The satisfaction would have been enormous, and there would’ve been no chance of Taylor getting off because of some sleight of hand executed by a good lawyer. “You have my son and her niece, and if you want to get out of this room alive, by God you’re going to tell us where they are.”

  “But I don’t know—” Fear had replaced bravado. Survival was all that mattered. Taylor whimpered as he felt the powerful hand closing over his throat, squeezing the air away. In another moment, there would be none left. “No, please,” he rasped, frantically begging for his life. “I don’t know who they are.”

  Mac placed her hand on Cade’s shoulder, afraid that he was going to kill the man with his bare hands. Taylor and Lambert had tainted their lives enough. There was nothing to be gained by squashing a roach like Taylor. Cade wasn’t the kind of man who would derive satisfaction out of knowing he had killed anyone, even someone like Taylor.

  “Cade, let him go.” She shook his shoulder, trying to bring him around. “I know what you’re going through, but he’s not going to be any use to us dead.” He wasn’t releasing him. Her voice took on a sharp edge. She had to get through to him, had to make him stop. He couldn’t ruin his life because of Taylor. “And you can’t be reunited with your son if you’re in jail for murder.” The look of gratitude that came into Taylor’s eyes turned her stomach. “Even if it is justified.”

  With an oath borne of all the tortured years of fruitless searching, Cade cursed the emptiness that should have been Taylor’s soul and released him, throwing him back into his chair.

  “Talk,” he demanded.

  Tears rolled down the weathered face. “I don’t know which one she is.” An unearthly sound escaped his dry lips as Cade took a step toward him. His hands, which he raised before him to ward Cade off, were trembling. “Please,” he pleaded with Mac. “I want to see the D.A. I’ll make a deal—”

  More time lost. Cade couldn’t stand for it. Wouldn’t stand for it. He jerked Taylor up to his feet again. “The deal is you get to rot in hell, starting five minutes from now, if you don’t tell me what I want to know.”

  Cowering, Taylor bobbed his head. “All right. I’ll tell you where they’re being kept. I have coded records on all the adoptions.” His hand jerked spasmodically as he pointed to his computer. “Just please, please don’t kill me.”

  “Talk,” Cade ordered. “And then we’ll see if you live.”

  Mac had absolutely no reason to doubt that he meant it. It was over, she thought, relief flooding her. She’d have Heather back before nightfall.

  If there was a tinge of something else lurking in the background, the tiniest shadow of regret because something else would be over as well, she pretended not to notice, because regret would be incredibly selfish of her and she had never been a selfish woman.

  Chapter 15

  There was a darkness in the room that the sunlight couldn’t seem to eradicate.

  The little boy looked at him with wide, frightened eyes. He sat on the recliner, trying to make himself as small as possible, trying to disappear into the soft, black leather.

  It broke Cade’s heart to see him like this. The child he’d been looking so hard for all these long years didn’t know him. Worse, was afraid of him.

  Wanting to rush in and sweep Darin into his arms, Cade forced himself to take small, slow steps toward the boy instead. He dropped to his knees beside the recliner. Darin pressed his body even farther into the cushions. Anger fought with joy.

  “What did they do to you, Darin?”

  Confusion joined fear. Darin shook his dark head. “Not Darin, can’t be Darin. Jeremy now. My name’s Jeremy.”

  Mac pressed her lips together, sympathy overwhelming her. Her arms filled with her niece, Mac was reluctant to let her go, even for a moment. There’d been recognition in Heather’s eyes when she’d entered the nursery in another section of the house where the little girl was being kept. It would have been brutal if she’d had to face the fear that Cade saw now.

  She laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “He’s afraid of you.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” Cade muttered, then flushed. Anguish hummed in every syllable. “I’m sorry.”

  There was no need to apologize. She understood. They needed a bridge, something to stir a distant, not quite forgotten memory. “Maybe if you talk to him about what you used to do together...”

  His mind suddenly a blank, Cade struggled to summon bits and pieces of their lives before Darin had been torn away from him. What would Darin have remembered? Still crouching down to the boy’s level, Cade was oblivious to the fact that Mac and Redhawk were looking on. The room could have been filled with people, it would have made no difference. All there was for him was Darin. The son who wasn’t back yet.

  “Do you remember watching cartoons with me on Saturday mornings, Darin?”

  The dark eyes stared straight ahead, not looking at him. “Jeremy.”

  Frustration flared. He clamped it down.

  “Jeremy,” Cade repeated, though the very name tasted bitter to his tongue. He thought harder. “Do you remember Spotty the dog?” The cartoon creation had been his son’s favorite character. He still had the tapes that Darin had loved to watch over and over. “I got you a stuffed Spotty and you carried it around everywhere.” Cade’s voice grew in momentum as he desperately tried to break through the invisible barriers that kept him from his son. “When you lost it, I drove around for hours trying to find it for you. It turned out to be in our garage all the time.”

  There was no change in expression, no acknowledgment. Nothing. He wasn’t getting through to Darin. It ripped Cade’s soul to be here with his child, after all this time, and not find him within the boy who sat here now, stoically ignoring him. What had they done to his son?

  Mac exchanged looks with Redhawk. The latter shook his head, as stymied as he was saddened to witness this. “Try a favorite story,” Mac whispered to Cade.

  He blew out a breath. “He didn’t have one. He liked everything I read to him.”

  Mac shifted her niece’s weight slightly, moving her farther up on her hip. She tried to think of the way she played with Heather.

  “A favorite song?” she guessed. “Did he have a favorite song? Did you sing to him?”

  Cade began to say no, and then he remembered. “Yeah, there was one. ‘Me and My Shadow.’
” Excitement built on the shaky foundation of unrooted hope. “He was like my little shadow, and one day the song just popped into my head. We sang it all the time.”

  She’d seen a flicker of something in the boy’s eyes when Cade had mentioned the old song. “Try it,” she urged. Mentally, Mac crossed her fingers. “Try singing it to him.”

  There seemed to be no breath left in his lungs. The words were hardly audible, pushing their way up a throat that felt swollen and chafed, thick with tears that he was repressing. Defeat crept in. Cade stopped at the third chorus. There was nothing in Darin’s face to show that the boy even vaguely remembered.

  Turning away, Cade looked at Mac and Redhawk. “I guess it’s going to take longer than I—”

  Jeremy’s small, solemn voice broke in as he sang a line from the song, picking up the words where Cade had left off.

  For a split second, Cade froze. And then the ice cracked from around his heart.

  “You remember!” Spinning around, he scooped the boy up into his arms. Tears instantly formed in the corners of his eyes and streamed down his cheeks. It was going to be all right. His son had returned to him. “You remember.”

  He buried his face in the boy’s neck as he held him to him, breathing in the sweet scent of Darin’s skin.

  Mac didn’t even bother trying not to cry.

  Darin’s initial reaction was to squirm and try to get away, but the impulse seemed to leave quickly and his body relaxed against his father’s. He looked confused, but the fear, the distrust, had miraculously melted away. He closed his arms around his father’s neck and held on tightly.

  “Why are you crying, Daddy?”

  Daddy. It was by far the sweetest word he’d ever heard. Cade raised his head and looked at the boy, kissing his face. “Because I’m happy.”

  The boy turned uncomprehending eyes toward Mac.

  Unable to resist, she ruffled the dark hair, her own heart bursting. “When you grow up, you’ll understand,” she promised. “Trust me.”

  He looked as if he were trying to place her in the new scheme of things “Are you Mommy?” There was pure innocence in the question.