Amanda Stevens Bestseller Collection: Stranger In Paradise/A Baby's Cry

by Amanda Stevens

  After Taylor’s visit, Dillon had needed to be alone, to try and sort out his thoughts. But this morning, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind was still in chaos.

  Finally he got up, showered and dressed, then stood drinking his coffee at the window, staring out as dawn broke over the cityscape.

  The meeting with Taylor had ended badly last evening. She’d tried to press him into helping her, which had only made Dillon all the more resistant. The argument had finally heated up until she’d stormed out of the apartment, accusing him of not caring whether their child was alive or not.

  What the hell did she expect, dropping a bombshell like that on him? How the hell was he supposed to react?

  Justified or not, Dillon wasn’t particularly proud of the way he’d behaved with her, but he’d be damned before he’d admit that to her. He didn’t even want to think about Taylor anymore. He didn’t want to think about the possibility that what she had told him last night could be true.

  Because if it was…

  If he had a kid out there somewhere…

  Don’t fall for it, he warned himself. Don’t take everything she said at face value.

  Taylor Walsh had betrayed him before. Why should he believe her now? She was rich and beautiful and she was used to getting everything she wanted, no matter who she stepped on in the process.

  Dillon had no intention of being her victim again.

  After all these years, he wasn’t about to let her back in his life.

  HE WASN’T GETTING rid of her that easily.

  Taylor stood at her kitchen window, watching the rising sun streak the eastern sky with fire. She hadn’t gotten much sleep last night and she suspected Dillon hadn’t, either. She’d told herself when she went to see him that she was prepared for his disbelief. She could deal with his anger.

  But the bitterness, the cold contempt in his eyes when she’d left him last night, had been something Taylor hadn’t expected.

  It had been almost ten years since they’d last seen each other. Ten years! How could he still harbor so much bitterness? So much hate for her?

  Taylor felt her own anger surge. He wasn’t the only one who’d been hurt back then, and she wasn’t the only one who’d made mistakes. Even though she’d told herself over the years that the breakup had been her fault, she realized now she’d never quite forgiven Dillon for leaving the way he had. For telling her the two of them were never meant to be. She’d said some terrible things to him, and his pride had been hurt. But to just leave like that…

  Taylor took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. It was all water under the bridge as far as she was concerned, and at this point, it didn’t matter if their past was ever resolved. All Taylor wanted was her future. All she cared about was finding her child.

  Hers and Dillon’s.

  You just may be asking for too damned much, his voice taunted her.

  Chapter Five

  Taylor clutched the plain white envelope in her hand as she waited downstairs in the visitor’s area of the police station. Finally the officer at the desk motioned her over.

  “Sergeant Reeves has already left for the day, but his partner’s still here. If this is in regard to one of their cases, you can talk to Sergeant Heywood.”

  Taylor fingered the envelope, wondering what to do. When she’d gotten home from school today, the envelope containing a third newspaper clipping had been waiting for her.

  In spite of their argument the night before, Taylor’s first instinct was to find Dillon. Now he would have to believe her. He couldn’t ignore this last message. He would have to do something to help her.

  “Perhaps Sergeant Heywood can help me,” she told the officer.

  After passing through the metal detector, Taylor took the elevator to the eleventh floor where the Homicide Division was located. Sergeant Heywood, a pleasant-faced man in his mid-thirties, stood when Taylor approached and motioned her to a chair across from his desk.

  “How can I help you, Mrs. Robinson?”

  “I really need to speak with Sergeant Reeves,” she said. “I thought perhaps you might be able to tell me where I can find him.”

  “He’s off duty.”

  “I know, but I really need to speak with him. It’s…urgent.”

  “Regarding?”

  Taylor hesitated.

  “Is this a personal matter?” he asked gently.

  Her cheeks colored as she glanced at him in surprise.

  Neal Heywood smiled. “I recognized your name. Dillon’s mentioned you before.”

  Taylor was even more surprised, and secretly a little pleased that Dillon had spoken about her. Then she wondered exactly what he had said. Their parting ten years ago—and last night—hadn’t exactly been amicable.

  There was a spice of mischief in Sergeant Heywood’s eyes as he studied her. “Don’t tell him I told you. He probably doesn’t even remember. We were both a little soused at the time.”

  It was all Taylor could do not to ask him what Dillon had said about her. But she managed to smile and say, “I won’t tell him.”

  Sergeant Heywood gave her a conspiratorial wink and seemed to relax a bit. He leaned forward in his chair and folded his arms across his desk. “Dillon left here about an hour ago. Have you tried his apartment?”

  “I called and left a message on his machine.”

  “Then you might try the Riverside Bar and Grill. It’s on Union, between Front Street and Riverside Drive. He goes there after work sometimes.”

  Taylor stood and offered her hand to Sergeant Heywood. “Thanks for your help.”

  “Not a problem.” He stood, too. “I’m glad to finally meet you in person.”

  “I hope I wasn’t a disappointment.”

  “Not in the least,” he said, his eyes warm and curious.

  On her way out, Taylor ran into Lamar Jackson, who had investigated Brad’s death. He stopped her in the hallway.

  Sergeant Jackson was tall and slim with a boyish face and thinning blond hair. With his hand still on her arm, he smiled down at her, but his steely gray eyes were hard looking, almost cruel.

  Taylor remembered how uneasy he’d made her feel when he’d come to interview her after Brad’s death, and again when she’d talked to him a few days ago about the newspaper clippings she’d received. It was all she could do now not to move away from his touch.

  As if sensing her discomfort, Jackson dropped his hand from her arm. His smile vanished. “What brings you down here, Mrs. Robinson? You haven’t received any more of those newspaper clippings, have you?”

  Remembering how uncooperative and sarcastic he’d been when she’d come to see him before, Taylor was glad she’d slipped the envelope into her purse before leaving Sergeant Heywood. There was no reason to assume Jackson would be any more helpful now. Besides, she didn’t trust him.

  “I’m here on personal business,” she said. “Nice seeing you again, Sergeant.”

  “Oh, likewise, I’m sure. If you do get any more of those clippings, you be sure and let me know, you hear? Or if you need help with anything else, anything at all, you just let me know.” His gray eyes drifted over her in a manner that made Taylor’s skin crawl. His gaze lingered on her legs, and she had to resist the temptation to tug down the hem of her short navy skirt.

  “I’ll be sure and do that,” she said, backing away. As she turned down the hallway, Taylor could feel Jackson’s eyes on her, and she couldn’t help shivering.

  AS IT TURNED OUT, Dillon wasn’t at the Riverside Bar and Grill, either. Taylor was about to give up her search when it suddenly occurred to her where he might be. Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner?

  She drove south on the interstate. It was just after six and traffic was still heavy. Taylor fought her impatience. Every car that got in her way seemed to be an impediment to her finding out the truth. Finally she exited the freeway and took Elvis Presley Boulevard to the cemetery.

  A dark green Firebird sat alone in the parking lot, an
d Taylor pulled alongside it and parked. She got out of the car and walked through the wrought-iron gates. The warm, humid air smelled like rain. On the horizon, dark clouds began to pile, and as she made her unerring way to the grave, Taylor wondered if they were in for a storm later.

  A breeze fluttered through the trees, loosening strands of her hair. Absently she brushed them back as she spotted Dillon standing over the grave.

  She caught her breath at the sight of him. He looked so lonely, standing there. So…wounded. In the fading sunlight, Taylor saw the starkness of his features, the raw emotion in his eyes as he gazed down at the tiny grave.

  A lump filled her throat. She’d come here so many times herself, all alone, with no one to share her grief. No one who understood the pain and emptiness that just wouldn’t go away, no matter how many years passed by.

  As she stared at Dillon’s rigid features, she wondered if he would ever be able to forgive her for what she’d done. She’d made so many mistakes. Done so many things in the past she regretted.

  As if sensing her silent plea, Dillon looked up and captured her gaze with his. The intensity of his stare, the cold contempt in his brown eyes, stole Taylor’s breath away.

  “What are you doing here?”

  She took a faltering step toward him. “I thought I might find you here. I had to see you, Dillon.”

  “I’m not exactly up for any more of your confessions, Taylor.” He looked hard, grim, completely unapproachable.

  But Taylor had to try, anyway. This was too important. She took a deep breath. “I know what you must be feeling,” she said softly.

  He looked up. “Do you? I don’t think so. You’ve had nine years to accept the death of our baby. I’ve had less than twenty-four hours.”

  In spite of his coldness, his anger, Taylor saw the grief shimmering in his eyes. She walked over to the grave and stood beside him. “That’s why I’m here. That’s why I have to keep trying to make you understand.” She paused for a moment, searching for words. “I’ve never accepted the death of our baby, Dillon. No matter how many times I’ve visited this grave, no matter how many tears I’ve shed, deep down I don’t think I ever really believed he was dead. I still dream about the night he was born.”

  She closed her eyes, remembering the terrified moments in the delivery room before she blacked out. She remembered calling out Dillon’s name, wanting him to be with her so badly, to help her through the hardest hours of her life. Through the drug-induced haze, she’d heard her baby’s first cry, and she’d fought so hard to remain conscious, but the drugs had been too strong.

  When she’d awakened, she’d been told the baby had died shortly after birth. She hadn’t even been allowed to see him.

  The grief had been overwhelming, consuming. Taylor’s arms had felt so empty. Her heart had ached. She’d wanted Dillon’s child more than anything in the world, and in the end, she’d lost him and his baby.

  But even during those darkest hours, even when the grief threatened to consume her, a tiny part of her had refused to believe.

  Fighting back her tears, Taylor gazed down at the tiny grave and marker. “All these years, I’ve heard a baby crying in my dreams. What if he’s crying for me, Dillon? And for you? What if he’s out there somewhere and he needs us?” She stared hard at the grave. “He’s alive, Dillon. I know he is.”

  “How can you be so sure?” His eyes were still bleak and still cold, but Taylor saw a flicker of something that might have been hope in those dark depths. He wiped a furious hand across his eyes. “How do you know you’re not trying to make some fantasy of yours come true?”

  “You make me sound crazy,” Taylor said with a flash of anger. “I’m not. I’m perfectly sane and I know what I have to do. What we have to do. Until we find out what really happened at the clinic that night, we’ll never have peace. You know that as well as I do. And the only way we can learn the truth is to find out why Brad was murdered. Find out what he knew before he died.”

  “If you’re so sure what happened to our son is tied to Brad’s death—” Dillon slowly lifted his dark gaze to hers. “Does that mean you think he was somehow involved?”

  Taylor glared at him in shock. The color drained from her face. “My God,” she whispered. “How could you even ask such a thing?”

  “You said he was the one who told you the baby was dead.”

  “Yes, but Brad wouldn’t have taken my baby! He loved him, too. He wanted him just as much as I did. He told me he never thought of the baby as…”

  “Mine?” Dillon’s voice was like a blast of frigid air. “That’s what you were about to say, isn’t it?”

  Taylor shivered. “Yes. Brad wasn’t involved. God knows he had his problems, most of them because of me, but he wouldn’t have done anything to hurt me like that. He…loved me.”

  And you loved him, Dillon thought, staring at her in the darkness. Like the sultry Memphis twilight, the past seemed to be closing in on him. Memories flashed through his mind.

  The closeness he and Taylor had once shared. The intimacy. The love.

  So much love and all wasted.

  Bitter regret stabbed through Dillon but he forced it away. There was no going back. What he and Taylor had was gone forever, and what they’d lost could never be replaced.

  He stared down at the grave, fighting a wave of emotion. Even though he’d told her last night he didn’t know if he believed her about their child, he realized now that he did. The baby Taylor gave birth to nine years ago was his. His.

  The months of planning, anticipating, sparring over names should have been his.

  The hours spent together in labor should have been his.

  Even the grief should have been his.

  Not Brad Robinson’s.

  Rage welled inside Dillon, so quick and so blinding, he thought for a moment he might not be able to control it. He didn’t think he had ever felt so betrayed. Suddenly he couldn’t stand at that grave any longer.

  Without a word, he turned and began walking back toward his car. Outside the wrought-iron gates of the cemetery, there was a small parklike area with marble benches and a reflecting pool. Dillon sat down and stared at the water.

  He heard Taylor approach, but he didn’t look up. His anger with her was still too great.

  She sat down beside him and placed a tentative hand on his arm. Dillon had to work hard not to flinch away. He didn’t want her to touch him. He didn’t want to remember what that touch had once done to him.

  What it was doing to him now.

  “I know you’re hurt and angry,” Taylor said. “I know you must hate me. But please try to see this from my perspective. I did what I thought was right. For all of us.”

  “Forgive me if I find that a little hard to swallow,” Dillon said bitterly. “Call me old-fashioned, but I think a man has the right to know when he’s about to become a father.”

  “Then why didn’t you stay around long enough to find out?” she said, not without her own bitterness. “You weren’t the only one who was hurt back then, Dillon. I was hurt, too. When you left like that—”

  “Wait a minute. I had a damned good reason for leaving the way I did, and I’m pretty sure you know what it was.”

  “All right!” she cried. “All right! Your leaving was all my fault. Everything was all my fault. Is that what you want to hear?”

  She gave a little sob as she got up and walked over to the edge of the pool. Dillon didn’t want to see her tears. It made it hard to hang on to his anger. As long as he had his anger, as long as he could remember her betrayal, it didn’t matter that his body responded to her every time she came near him.

  But as soon as she got vulnerable, as soon as she looked as if she needed taking care of, he started remembering things. He started wondering what it would be like to hold her again, to feel her body next to his.

  He started fantasizing things he had no business thinking.

  He said gruffly, “Why did you want to see me?”

/>   She turned and walked back over to the bench. Her face was composed, but a single tear slipped down her cheek. Dillon had to resist the urge to reach up and wipe it away.

  She brushed the tear away with the back of her hand, then pulled an envelope from her pocket and handed it to him. “I received another clipping in the mail today.”

  Dillon studied the envelope, then opened the flap and took out the article. He read the headline in the dying light. Court Awards Natural Parents Custody Of Child Swapped At Birth.

  Unlike the other two, nothing was written or circled on this clipping. The headline seemed to speak for itself.

  “It’s a Memphis postmark,” Dillon said. “We can at least track down the post office, find out what area of town it was mailed from.”

  “Will that help?”

  “Not much,” he admitted.

  “I probably shouldn’t have touched it,” Taylor said. “But I’d opened it before I realized what it was. Is there a chance you could still lift fingerprints from it?”

  “I doubt that would help much, either. Unless the person sending these has a criminal record.” He glanced at Taylor. “I’m not sure at this point there’s much we can do except wait for the person who’s sending these to tip his or her hand.”

  “But you’re a cop,” Taylor said in frustration. “Can’t you at least talk to Dr. Westcott, find out where he was the night Brad died?”

  “No, I can’t. This isn’t my case, Taylor. I can’t go interfering in someone else’s investigation. By all rights, you should have taken this clipping to Lamar Jackson.”

  “And you know as well as I do how much good that would have done!”

  Dillon did know. To his way of thinking, Lamar Jackson was a lazy investigator. He wasn’t willing to put in the time or patience it sometimes took to get a lead, let alone solve a homicide.

  He and Dillon had butted heads on a case a few months ago, when Dillon had picked up a lead on one of Jackson’s cases that he refused to follow up. When Dillon had done the legwork himself and the lead panned out, Jackson had been furious.