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

by Amanda Stevens

  “Only that Dr. Westcott accused him of misdiagnosing a patient. He said Dr. Westcott was the one who got him suspended.”

  Dr. Forster sat down on the stool near the table and rubbed her eyes. She sighed deeply. “It’s true. The accusation came from Dr. Westcott. He carries a lot of clout at the hospital. Once he’d convinced the review board that Brad was a potential liability, they couldn’t wait to get rid of him.”

  “Did Dr. Westcott have a basis for his accusations?” Dillon asked.

  His voice seemed to startle Dr. Forster, as if she’d forgotten he was in the room with them. Then her eyes narrowed. “You’re the cop,” she said coolly. “The one who’s been trying to get in touch with me. I should have recognized your name.”

  “Why didn’t you return my calls?” Dillon inquired.

  “I didn’t see the point. As I said before, I’m a very busy woman, and I’d already spoken to the police regarding Brad’s death. There wasn’t anything else I could add.”

  “I’d still like to hear your opinion concerning Dr. Robinson’s suspension. Did Westcott have a basis for his accusation?” Dillon asked again.

  For a moment, Taylor thought Dr. Forster would refuse to answer. Then finally she said, “Brad had his problems.” She threw Taylor an accusing glance. “We all knew that. But he was a fine doctor. He never let anything interfere with his professional judgment.”

  “Not even the pills and the booze?” Dillon asked.

  Dr. Forster’s tone turned bitter. “Hospitals are like small towns. Rumors circulate about everyone from time to time. Nothing was ever proven about Brad.”

  Taylor knew for a fact that the rumors about Brad were mostly true, but she refrained from saying so. Instead, she asked, “Do you know why Brad and Dr. Westcott had a falling-out all those years ago when Brad was still at the Westcott Clinic?”

  She gave Taylor a cold stare. “Just because Brad and I were colleagues doesn’t mean he confided in me.”

  “You and Dr. Robinson were a little more than colleagues,” Dillon said.

  Dr. Forster’s reaction to Dillon’s statement fascinated Taylor. The cool facade melted away, replaced by a rapid play of emotions across the woman’s face. A muscle throbbed in her temple and her lips thinned almost imperceptibly. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Word at the hospital is that the two of you were friends. Close friends. Had been for years.”

  He might as well have said lovers because that was certainly the implication in his voice.

  Two bright points of color ignited Dr. Forster’s pale cheeks. Her fingers trembled slightly as she picked up Taylor’s file and stood. “I don’t like the tone of this conversation. I’ve said all I have to say to the police. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have patients to see.”

  “Just one last question,” Dillon said as Dr. Forster started for the door. “Were you on duty at the Westcott Clinic when Mrs. Robinson gave birth? That would have been nine years ago. On September third.”

  Dr. Forster paused at the door. Her green eyes studied them with open hostility. “You can’t possibly expect me to remember that. I’ve seen hundreds of patients since that night.”

  “No,” Dillon agreed, “I wouldn’t expect you to remember.

  Unless, of course, you and Dr. Robinson were…friends even back then.”

  Dr. Forster glared at Dillon for a long, silent moment, then said through clenched teeth, “Get out of my office. Both of you. And don’t ever come back.”

  “SHE WAS LYING,” Taylor said as she and Dillon sat across from each other at a booth in the lounge at the Peabody Hotel. They’d ducked in for a quick drink after leaving Dr. Forster’s office. “If she couldn’t remember whether or not she was on duty when my baby was born, how did she happen to know that it was at night?”

  “So you caught that, too,” Dillon said approvingly. He took a sip of his coffee, eyeing her over the rim of the cup. “You did good back there.”

  Taylor smiled weakly. “I was nervous,” she admitted. “Especially when the nurse was asking me all those questions. I’ve never done anything like that.”

  “What, lie?”

  “We didn’t exactly lie. We just didn’t—”

  “Tell the complete truth.”

  She gave him a look. “Okay. So we lied. But we did get results, just like you said earlier. We found out Dr. Forster was lying, too.”

  “For whatever that’s worth.” Absently Dillon watched the ducks swimming in the fountain in the hotel lobby. “She wasn’t exactly forthcoming with information.”

  “Neither were you.”

  Dillon glanced up. “What do you mean?”

  “The implication that Brad and Jillian Forster were lovers. Why didn’t you tell me that earlier?”

  “Because it was mostly a guess. I put two and two together from some of the things I’d heard at the hospital and decided to test my theory.” He looked away from Taylor’s probing eyes. “Okay,” he said with a sigh. “I didn’t know how you’d take it.”

  “Brad and I were legally separated for almost two years.”

  “I know.”

  “What he did or who he saw was none of my business.”

  “Right.”

  It was Taylor’s turn to glance away. “But you’re saying their relationship may have gone back farther than our separation. That they may have been…lovers a long time ago, even when I was pregnant.”

  “I’m only guessing.” Dillon paused, then said carefully, “How would you feel about that?”

  “I don’t know.” Her voice sounded hollow. She put up a hand to absently tuck her hair behind one ear.

  At that moment, Dillon had never seen anyone look so vulnerable, so lost, but when she lifted her gaze to meet his, it was anger, not hurt, he saw reflected in those soft blue depths.

  “If it’s true,” she said quietly, “I can’t bear to think of all those years I spent feeling guilty. All those times I tried to make up for not having loved him the way a wife should love her husband…” Her fingertips touched her lips. “I blamed myself for all his problems, his weaknesses, but it wasn’t me, was it? It was him.”

  Dillon saw what it cost her to make that statement. Knew the years of anguish it had taken her to come to this very simple and obvious conclusion.

  He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her until the hurt and lies and disillusionment of the past all faded away. But they were in a public place and a table separated them. So instead he reached out and took her hand in his.

  But the moment their fingers met, he realized what a mistake it was to touch her. A current of desire shot through him.

  I don’t want this, he thought. I don’t want to feel anything for this woman.

  For as long as he lived, Dillon didn’t think he would ever forget how much Taylor had once hurt him. Like a strobe, memories flashed through his mind.

  In the space of a heartbeat, he was once again sitting in his car parked across the street from Brad Robinson’s apartment, watching Taylor emerge the morning after the Christmas dance.

  In his mind, he could see Robinson put his arm possessively around Taylor’s shoulders and draw her close for his kiss. For a moment, Taylor clung to him. And then Robinson opened the car door, Taylor slid inside and the two of them drove off in his brand-new Porsche.

  And Dillon had sat there in his twelve-year-old Chevy, numb with shock and hurt and thinking what a fool he’d been. What a damn stupid fool.

  As the memory drifted away, he stared at Taylor sitting across the table from him and told himself he’d be an even bigger fool to forget that night, to erase how easily Taylor had once gone from his arms to Robinson’s.

  He would be a fool to think the differences that had once torn them apart had simply disappeared during the intervening years.

  What he had told her that night years ago was still true. They were never meant to be. It was as simple as that.

  He withdrew his hand, and something that might have been h
urt flashed in Taylor’s eyes, but she tried to quickly mask it by glancing at her watch.

  “I have to get back to work,” she said hurriedly.

  “Tonight?”

  “The end of the term is always hectic,” she explained, standing. “I have several reports that have to be filed with the State Board of Education by the end of the week.”

  Dillon threw some bills on the table. “I don’t like the idea of your being in that building alone. Especially at night.”

  “I won’t be alone. A lot of the teachers are working late this week.”

  “I still don’t like it,” Dillon insisted. “When you leave, make sure you have someone walk with you to your car. You have to be careful, Taylor.” He gazed down at her, his eyes hard. “Someone tried to kill you once. There’s no reason to assume he or she won’t try it again.”

  A FEW HOURS LATER, Carrie Hutton, one of the third-grade teachers at Claymore Academy, popped her head into Taylor’s office. “Debbie and I are going out to grab a pizza. Want to take a break and come with us?”

  Taylor glanced at her watch. It was a little after nine. She couldn’t believe how the time had flown. “No thanks. I still have a couple of reports I need to get finished tonight.”

  Carried shrugged. “Suit yourself. At least you won’t be here alone. Old Man—I mean, Mr. Thorndike’s still burning the midnight oil, but most of the others have already left. Don’t stay too late, okay? This neighborhood’s not as safe as it used to be, and I wouldn’t want to put Thorny’s machismo to the test, if you know what I mean.”

  Taylor grinned. “I won’t be much longer.”

  Once Carrie had gone, the office seemed to grow uncomfortably quiet. Rationally Taylor knew it was no more silent or noisy than it had been before Carrie had popped in, but now that Taylor knew there was no one else in the building except for Mr. Thorndike, an uneasiness settled over her and she couldn’t help remembering Dillon’s earlier warning. Someone tried to kill you once. There’s no reason to assume he or she won’t try it again.

  Had someone really tried to kill her that night? Or had the car racing toward her been just an accident? A case of being caught at the wrong place at the wrong time? She had stepped into the street without looking.

  But why were the car’s lights turned off if the driver hadn’t been intentionally trying to hit her?

  In spite of her disquiet, Taylor forced herself to settle down and finish her work. By nine-thirty, the reports were completed, printed and stacked neatly on her desk, ready for mailing in the morning.

  She stood and stretched, then grabbed her purse from her desk drawer, secured her files and locked the office door as she left.

  A light still burned in Mr. Thorndike’s office, and even though she couldn’t see him through the frosted glass, Taylor was glad for the headmaster’s stoic presence. As she walked past his office, she couldn’t help thinking about the night her car had been vandalized in the parking lot.

  But at least tonight she knew she wasn’t alone, and she heard no unexplained noises coming from the classrooms and saw no sinister shadows drifting through the offices. There was nothing at all out of the ordinary at Claymore.

  Taylor continued down the hallway toward the exit. A staircase to her left led to the second-floor classrooms, and beneath the stairway was a door that led down more steps. That door was always kept closed and locked to prevent any adventuresome students from wandering down into the boiler room and getting hurt.

  As Taylor approached the exit, she noticed that the door under the staircase stood open, but there was no light emanating from the boiler room. The blackness below was complete.

  Taylor wondered if she should close the door. But what if Stanley was down there? What if he’d fallen and hurt himself? Or worse, what if one of the children had somehow gotten down there?

  An image of Stanley’s grandson, David, flashed across her mind. Perhaps he was the one who had left the door open. He might be down there hurt, and if he was, he wouldn’t be able to hear her call to him.

  As Taylor stood wondering what to do, a sound came from below. A soft little whimper that sent a shiver of dread up her spine.

  She stopped dead still, listening. The noise came again, and Taylor’s blood froze as she recognized the sound for what it was.

  A baby’s cry.

  Chapter Eleven

  A baby was crying in the basement!

  But…how could that be? How would a baby have gotten into the boiler room?

  The obvious answer was that someone had put it there, left it maybe, like the horrible stories one heard on the news. But…

  Taylor tried to quiet the hammering of her heart as she listened to the darkness below the steps. The cries grew louder, more demanding. Taylor’s skin crawled, thinking about a baby all alone in that dank darkness.

  She wondered fleetingly if she should go and get Mr. Thorndike to help her, but the baby was crying frantically now, its desperate wails echoing pitifully up the staircase. There was no way Taylor could ignore those cries. They sounded too much like the cries in her dreams.

  Tentatively she moved to the top of the steps. Her palms roamed over the cool cinder-block wall, searching for the light switch. She flicked it on. The dim bulb illuminated the stairway but very little of the boiler room. There was probably another light switch below, Taylor reasoned.

  She started down the stairs, but halfway to the bottom, the light was suddenly cut off. She stood on the steps, completely submerged in darkness. The cries continued somewhere below her, but there was something strange about the sound now. Something not quite right.

  She turned back up the steps, toward the doorway. Blood pounded in her ears and every nerve ending in her body screamed in warning. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

  At first, the blackness was so complete she couldn’t distinguish any shapes. Then, near the top of the stairs, something moved downward, slowly toward her.

  Taylor screamed and whirled. Her heel caught the edge of one of the steps, and she tumbled headlong into the darkness, rolling over and over until she reached the bottom of the stairs to land on the concrete floor, her left hand trapped beneath her weight. She felt the sickening snap as the bone in her wrist gave way.

  She screamed again, in pain and terror. The figure, swathed in black, emerged from the darkness above her. Ruthless hands grabbed her, turned her over and encircled her neck.

  Still stunned from the fall, Taylor lay paralyzed, for a split second an easy victim. Then pure instinct took over, and she clawed at the face hidden beneath a woolen ski mask. Frantically she struggled, kicking at her assailant with both of her legs as hard as she could. She heard a grunt of pain, and kicked again. The hands released her throat as the assailant stumbled backward.

  Within seconds, he came at her again. Taylor scooted backward, trying to get away from the silent killer. Her right hand closed over a piece of loose metal pipe on the floor as the figure grabbed her ankles and dragged her toward him. Beyond terror now, Taylor flung the pipe toward him, and heard it connect with solid flesh.

  This time there was no sound, but Taylor could sense the killer’s rage. His cruel hands were all over her now, jerking her toward him, tearing at her clothes.

  He straddled her, pinning her to the floor, when suddenly footsteps sounded at the top of the stairs. The light came on, and over her assailant’s shoulder, she caught a quick glimpse of a small boy’s face, his eyes rounded with terror.

  David! It was useless to call out to him, to warn him of the danger. He wouldn’t be able to hear her.

  Oh, God, don’t let him come down here, Taylor prayed.

  He wavered at the top of the stairs, then turned and ran away. A kind of breathless waiting descended over Taylor and her would-be killer. Taylor tried to scream but no sound came out. She lay gasping for breath as the figure abruptly released her and melted into the darkness.

  Lying spent on the concrete floor, she heard the sound of a door opening beh
ind her, felt the rush of night wind on her face and then the door slammed shut.

  “YOU ARE ONE lucky young woman,” the doctor told her.

  Taylor sat on a cart in the emergency room at Mercy General Hospital, her arm still numb from the local anesthetic. She held up her hand and admired her new cast. “Do you know, this is the first broken bone I’ve ever had?”

  “The first that you know of,” the doctor, a pleasant, freckle-faced young resident wearing green scrubs and a white lab coat, amended as he jotted something on her chart. He glanced up. “You’d be surprised how many people break bones and never even know it.”

  “Fascinating.” Taylor leaned back and stared at the white ceiling. Amazingly, she heard herself humming an inane little tune as she shut her eyes. The doctor chuckled, told her he’d check on her later, then left the room and closed the door.

  A moment or two later the door opened again. With an effort, Taylor roused herself and opened her eyes. A woman in a jade dress stood at the end of the bed, examining her chart. As if sensing Taylor’s eyes on her, the woman glanced up.

  With a jolt, Taylor recognized her. “What are you doing here?”

  Dr. Forster gave her a brief, enigmatic smile. “I was in the E.R. when you were brought in.” She studied Taylor dispassionately. Her auburn hair was swept up and back, making her seem even taller and more regal than usual. The green dress complemented her eyes and hair to perfection, but the bodice was stained by a thin streak of blood.

  “Are you in pain now?” she asked Taylor.

  “Not at the moment.”

  “Well, don’t worry.” The cool smile flickered again. “As soon as the medication wears off, I daresay you’ll be in a great deal of pain.”

  She started to say something else, but the door swung open and Dillon strode in. Dr. Forster brushed past him to exit the room without another word.

  Dillon looked after her. “What was that all about?”

  “I have no idea,” Taylor said. “I think she wanted to tell me how much pain I’ll be in when my medication wears off.”