Claiming His Family

by Ann Voss Peterson

  “What kind of news, Mylinski?”

  “Important news. I’ll meet you in your office.”

  “Will do.” Dex punched off the phone and met Alyson’s concerned gaze. “We have to go to my office. Mylinski has news.”

  Chapter Five

  Alyson fought to keep her breathing measured, her pulse rate under control as she and Dex rode the elevator to the fifth floor of the City County Building. There was only one reason Dex would have insisted she accompany him to the D.A.’s offices. If he merely wanted to protect her from Smythe, he could have left her at the crime lab with no worry. And he would have if Al Mylinski’s call pertained to a case she had no business hearing about. No, this had something to do with Patrick.

  Questions echoed through her mind. Had the police located their son? Was he all right? Or was the news much worse? Was it the unthinkable?

  Taking a firm grip on the panic screaming along her nerves, she followed Dex down the hall and into the reception area. The place looked just as it had when her father was in charge, government-beige walls, Spartan furniture, a far cry from the richly appointed offices of private attorneys. These lawyers worked for the public, and it showed.

  Maggie Daugherty shuffled papers behind the counter as she always had when Fitz was alive. With one difference. Instead of greeting Alyson with a big smile, she avoided Alyson’s gaze, a guarded look in her saucer-size brown eyes.

  Dex paused at the desk. “Is Al Mylinski here yet, Maggie?”

  She motioned down the hall. “He’s waiting in your office.”

  “Hold my calls.”

  The receptionist gave him a tense smile. “Certainly, Mr. Harrington.” Her head dipped back to her work.

  Dex motioned to Alyson to follow and strode back into the maze of halls. Reaching the door of his office, he opened it and ushered her inside.

  Stepping into the office, she braced herself. But the blow of memory she expected never came. The walnut desk her father had used had been replaced by a sturdy oak one. The leather chairs were gone, as well, an inexpensive vinyl taking their place. Even the art had changed. Instead of classic paintings of landscapes, modern prints brightened the walls. Dex had wiped Fitz’s presence from the room as effectively as he’d wiped her presence from his house. And while the absence of memories was a relief, it also left her cold inside.

  And alone.

  “Alyson. What a nice surprise.” Resting his heavy-set frame in one of the chairs facing Dex’s desk, Al Mylinski focused on her.

  A shiver of fear worked its way up her spine. She’d always liked Al. His dry sense of humor and shrewd blue eyes along with his excellent police work had earned her affection and respect the few times she’d worked on his cases at the lab or run into him at her father’s or Dex’s offices. And he seemed to be truly happy to see her. But for the life of her, she couldn’t force a real smile to her lips. “Why did you call, Al? What happened?”

  Mylinski glanced at Dex, as if asking his permission to speak in front of her.

  Dex nodded. “Go ahead. What have you found?” Propping a hip on the edge of his desk, he waited for Mylinski’s answer.

  “Looks like our alleged rape victim is up north. Her family has a cabin near Minocqua. The family’s housekeeper thinks our girl has been living there the past few months.”

  Panic surged along Alyson’s nerves. Smythe’s warnings not to involve the police rang in her ears. “No.” She whirled to face Dex. “No police. He said no police.”

  Dex held up his hands as if warding off her assault. “I didn’t call Mylinski about Patrick. He’s been working on finding Connie Rasula since she disappeared. His involvement has nothing to do with Patrick.”

  “It has everything to do with Patrick. What if Smythe finds out?”

  “You’ve heard from Smythe?” Al glanced from Alyson to Dex and back again, taking in far more than she wanted him to.

  Alyson shot Dex a concerned glare.

  Dex looked away and focused on Mylinski. “Smythe kidnapped our son.”

  “And he warned you not to involve the cops,” Mylinski supplied.

  “That’s right.”

  Mylinski dug into his pocket and popped a piece of orange candy into his mouth. He bit down on the candy and ground it between his teeth as he processed the information. His sharp gaze traveled from Alyson to Dex and back again. “Since when did you two have a son anyway? Or shouldn’t I ask?”

  The scent of orange filled the room, turning Alyson’s stomach. “Dex just learned about him two days ago. He’s seven months old. His name is Patrick.”

  A crooked smile spread over Mylinski’s lips. “Well, congratulations. And if there’s anything I can do behind the scenes to nail that bastard and bring your baby back, count me in.”

  “We’ll drive up north and talk to Connie Rasula today.” Dex glanced at Alyson. “But I do have another missing person.”

  “Just give me a name,” Mylinski said.

  “Jennifer Scott. Until two days ago she was a chemist at the State Crime Lab,” Dex offered.

  Mylinski’s brow furrowed. He steepled his fingers and tapped them against his lips. “Jennifer Scott. Mid-thirties, blond hair, average size, lives alone in a nice condo out in Fitchburg?”

  Dex leaned back against his desk as if bracing himself. “What do you know?”

  “Her mother is a friend of mine. I talked to her this morning. She came in and filled out a missing person’s report. Her daughter was supposed to meet her two days ago and never showed. Hasn’t been heard from since.”

  Dread grasped the back of Alyson’s neck like a cold hand. “Smythe was let out of prison two days ago.”

  Dex nodded. “And I doubt we’re talking about a coincidence here. Not where Smythe is concerned.”

  First Connie Rasula was missing, then Patrick, and now Jennifer Scott. No. No coincidence. Alyson could feel it.

  THE INVIGORATING SCENT of pine trees and crisp air rushed through the open car window and hit Dex’s face like a cool splash of aftershave. Beside him in the passenger seat, Alyson pulled out a Wisconsin map. She’d watched as the freeway had dwindled to a highway and finally to a country road. Apparently she wasn’t taking any chances on ending up lost in the north woods.

  They’d driven most of the four-hour trip in silence—a silence for which Dex had been grateful. Too many ugly scenarios were spinning through his mind. The fate of Jennifer Scott; what they would find when they located Connie Rasula; and most of all, where was Patrick?

  And then there was Alyson herself. The sparkle he had seen in her eyes at the lab had long since been extinguished. Lines of tension surrounded her pursed lips. Her fingers gripped the map as if it were a lifeline. No doubt the same horrible scenarios were plaguing her, as well.

  He returned his gaze to the road. He couldn’t think about how Alyson felt right now. If he did, he’d only want to take her in his arms, to comfort her, to reassure her that everything would be all right. He had to focus on finding Connie Rasula. He had to convince her to tell everything she knew—about the false rape that sprung Smythe from prison, about the rapist’s plans for revenge, and about Patrick’s whereabouts. She was the only lead they had.

  The winding country road widened, hotels and resorts began springing up along the shores of pristine lakes. Traffic increased. And the sparsely populated area turned into a resort town, complete with gift shops, gourmet restaurants and luxury hotels. Over-weight people wandered from shop to eatery, baring their shockingly white legs in shorts and dresses. And somewhere among the tourists was the woman they were looking for. The woman they had to find.

  The address Mylinski had given him was still folded in Dex’s wallet, but he didn’t have to slip it out to remember. He’d burned the street and number into his memory the first time he’d glanced at them. He had only to get through town and find the right road circling the lake, then Connie Rasula and some answers would be his.

  They reached the Rasula summer home just as t
he sun was starting to slip beyond the bluffs on the other side of the lake. The orange of the sun’s rays reflected on the water, turning the waves into tongues of fire. The home itself was bigger than some of the hotels in town. A rough-hewn cabin design, the house seemed to have more windows than logs. Alyson followed Dex up the curved walk-way amid the blooms of perennials and colorful bushes. He mounted the front steps and pressed the doorbell.

  The chime sounded through the house, echoing as if inside a church. They waited, but there seemed to be no movement on the other side of the door.

  Dex punched the doorbell again. Still no response. He tried jiggling the knob, but it didn’t move. The place was securely locked. “Damn.”

  “Maybe she went out for dinner or something.”

  “Maybe.” He hoped her absence was something so innocent, so ordinary. But the tension winding up his spine suggested something different.

  “You think something is wrong?” Alyson’s eyes searched his as if desperate for an answer.

  He sure as hell hoped not. “She’s probably just out eating dinner, like you said.” Trying not to let Alyson read his eyes, he walked down the steps and headed around the side of the house. He wasn’t going to give up this easily. Connie could have recognized him. She could be hiding inside the house, waiting until they left. But whatever the explanation, he wanted to know more before they gave up and found a hotel for the night.

  Alyson followed close behind. They circled the house to the lake side. The ground sloped to the water. The house rose above them in three stories of glass and wood decking. A lakeside paradise.

  Dex started up the steps leading to the tiered deck, Alyson on his heels. Tall pines stabbed into the sky on either side of them. The lake yawned like a black hole beneath them, waves tainted by the blue glow of twilight. Their footsteps thumped on the wooden stairs like an irregular heartbeat.

  They reached the first level of decking. Dex moved to the sliding-glass doors. Shielding the reflected glow of the horizon behind him with his hand, he peered inside. Alyson caught up to him and did the same.

  Pristine-white carpet and furniture scattered the living room. Dark shadows cloaked the hallways and kitchen beyond. But other than a half-full wine-glass perched on the coffee table and an open magazine, there was no sign of life.

  “It doesn’t look like anyone is home.” Alyson tried the door handle. It rattled, but didn’t budge. “So what do we do now?”

  Dex turned and headed for the stairs before the question had cleared her lips. “There’s one more floor. Maybe we’ll get lucky.” He reached the stairs, his footsteps pounding out a rhythm as he started for the top deck.

  The shadows grew deeper the higher they climbed. Tops of trees swayed in the breeze. Finally they reached the top deck, taller than all but the tallest pines. Light was fading fast from the sky. Long shadows deepened and spread over the deck, obscuring flowerpots and redwood furniture. Dex walked straight for one of the sliding-glass doors stretching the length of the deck.

  Alyson dodged through a clutter of outdoor furniture obviously on her way to the windows stretching along the other side of the deck. Suddenly her footsteps stopped. “Dex.” Her voice rasped as if her throat was being squeezed by a strong hand.

  Dex spun around.

  Her eyes were wide against her pale face. Her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. She swallowed and looked down at her feet.

  Dex followed her gaze to the shadowed form on the deck and looked into the glassy eyes of Connie Rasula.

  Chapter Six

  “We have to call the police.” Alyson’s voice rang in her own ears. Panic jangled through her, yet her voice sounded flat and emotionless, her emotions kept in line by sheer force of will.

  Dex knelt and touched his fingers to the woman’s neck. “She’s dead.” Under his fingers, the bruises on her neck were dark blue and red, visible even in the dark shadow. They looked like the mottled outline of hands rather than the dark, precise line of a ligature. However, her wrists had clearly been tied, dark bruised lines dug deep into the fragile flesh. And from the waist down, she was naked.

  Anger and repulsion swirled in Alyson’s head until she was dizzy. “Smythe.”

  Dex rose to his feet. “Apparently he learned one thing from his time in prison. Not to leave live witnesses.”

  Alyson’s gaze darted around the deck to the dark interior of the cabin. Anywhere but at the body inches in front of her feet. “Do you think he’s here?”

  Dex shook his head. “Her body is cool and rigor has set in.”

  “She must have been dead for a while then.” Alyson gasped for breath, but she couldn’t seem to scoop enough oxygen into her hungry lungs. Her head began to whirl, and for a moment she feared she might pass out.

  Dex grasped her elbow and led her away from the body. “Smythe has no reason to hurt Patrick. He needs him for leverage. He needs him in order to exert control over us. Over me.”

  Alyson nodded, but her head wouldn’t stop spinning. Her heart wouldn’t stop pounding. Tears welled in her eyes and spilled over her lashes.

  Dex wrapped an arm around her and pulled her against his body. “Patrick will be all right. We won’t let anything happen to him.”

  Alyson couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop tears from coursing down her cheeks. She’d tried so hard to be strong. But she couldn’t do it anymore. She couldn’t physically do it.

  Dex grasped her chin and turned her face to his. His eyes drilled into her. “This has been hard for you. Harder than I can imagine. But you have to hold on. We’ll get through this.”

  She tried to raise her chin and straighten her spine, but the tremor racking her body wouldn’t allow it. “I’m okay.”

  “Like hell you are.”

  He was right. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. It was as if walls were closing in on her, walls she couldn’t see. Cutting off her air. Trapping her in terrible isolation.

  Dex pulled her closer. His solidness, his warmth, broke down the walls. She wanted to be close to him, the father of her baby, the only human being feeling the same fear she felt.

  The man she’d once loved.

  They stood that way for a long while. And even though he was only holding her out of pity, out of concern, she could almost bring herself to believe that he was here with her, holding her because he cared about her. That she wasn’t so alone.

  And that was enough. That was everything.

  She looked up into his eyes. “We have to go.”

  “I doubt that Smythe is still here. He’s too smart to risk being seen near Connie Rasula. Especially now that she’s dead.”

  “It’s not that. I just have this horrible feeling.” She clutched Dex’s shirt in her fingers to still her shaking hands. “Now that Smythe has covered his tracks, I’m afraid he’s ready to make his next move.”

  Dex narrowed his eyes on her and nodded. “I think you’re probably right.” He pulled out his cell phone and punched 9-1-1. “The sooner we report this, the sooner we can get on the highway back to Madison.”

  Alyson watched as he calmly reported the murder. But he didn’t pull away from her. And she couldn’t bring herself to break contact with him, either. Not now. Not yet. She needed his touch, his strength, to get through the next few hours. And somehow he must have recognized it.

  Or maybe he needed it, too.

  THE CAR’S TIRES hummed along the highway, snaking through the towering pine trees and darkness ahead. Dex gripped the wheel with one hand and slugged back hot coffee with the other. He didn’t need the caffeine to stay awake. Not after all they’d weathered this evening—discovering Connie Rasula’s body, fielding endless questions from the local police. His mind was humming louder than the vehicle’s spinning tires. But the coffee was warm and reassuring, and it filled the car with its rich aroma. A touch of normalcy in a day that had spun so out of control.

  And if by some chance the fatigue of emotionally charged days and sleepless night
s overcame the caffeine and seized control of his body, he had only to glance at the passenger seat next to him, where Alyson sat, her wide green eyes staring straight ahead, her auburn hair wisping around her shoulders, and his blood would jolt him back to rigid attention.

  He could still feel the press of her body against him. The way her sweet curves fit him. The way the fear in her eyes and the trembling of her flesh made him want to hold her and comfort her and never let her go.

  He forced himself to focus on the darkness just beyond the glow of the headlights. He’d been so in love with her once, more in love than he’d ever believed he could be. But it had all been a fantasy. The last streak of romantic idealism to be snuffed out. Now he needed to keep himself anchored in reality. Alyson hadn’t trusted him. He couldn’t forget that. She’d chosen to believe her father over him. And worst of all, she’d kept their baby from him.

  His baby.

  He hadn’t let himself think of Patrick since he’d learned he had a baby—and that baby had been stolen. He hadn’t had the time or the luxury of thinking, of feeling. He’d focused on tracking down Smythe. On fixing the problem. But in the dark car, his imagination swirled around him like a chilling fog.

  His baby.

  He used to think about having children. Of how he’d make damn sure he was a good father, a good provider, unlike his worthless old man. He’d even lain awake some nights wondering exactly how he would go about fatherhood—considering his lack of role model.

  But all that changed when Alyson betrayed him and their relationship ended. Without a wife, he had no reason to contemplate being a father. At least, that’s what he had believed.

  And now, low and behold, he had a son. A son he might never know.

  He glanced at Alyson despite himself. Posture rigid, she stared into the night as if facing her worst fears. Her arms wrapped around her middle as though if she held on tightly enough, she could keep from shattering into a million pieces.

  It was hell for her, losing her son. Dex knew that. But he couldn’t help envying her nonetheless. At least she knew what she’d lost. She knew what Patrick’s little body felt like snuggled against her breast. She knew how his little face lit up when he laughed or what funny noises made him smile. Dex might never know those things. He might never know his son.