knew. He became increasingly convinced he was right. The police wouldn’t have known about the connection because the people he was thinking of weren’t Beth’s family.
Knowing Laurie would recognize his car, Vincente had rented a nondescript black sedan. Subterfuge really wasn’t his style, but he was determined to find Beth and ask her the questions that refused to go away. Even in his rental car, he had stayed well behind Laurie. He had a healthy respect for his sister-in-law’s powers of observation. The woman who had tracked down the Red Rose Killer was more than capable of recognizing that she was being followed.
Once he was convinced he knew where she was going, Vincente had overtaken her on the freeway. Pulling in at a gas station on the outskirts of Casper, he had waited, hoping his hunch was correct. When Laurie’s car came into view, he had released a long sigh of relief. If he’d been wrong, he wasn’t sure what his next move would have been. All he knew for sure was that giving up wasn’t an option.
Keeping his distance once more, he had followed Laurie to this quiet neighborhood in Casper. She had pulled up outside a house that was set back slightly from the street. Although he hadn’t been able to see too much, he had watched as the door was opened and Laurie went inside. That had been almost an hour ago, and he was going half-crazy with tension, waiting for the opportunity to do something. He had been told more than once, by both of his brothers, that patience was not his best quality.
Finally, he saw a movement over at the house. Tilting the old cowboy hat he’d worn as an additional disguise low over his brow, but peering out from under the brim, he slunk down in his seat. Laurie came out of the house alone. No one accompanied her to the door. There could be any number of reasons why the occupant of the house had chosen not to escort her out. From Vincente’s point of view, it was frustrating. Once again, he was denied the opportunity to get a glimpse of who lived there.
As Laurie made her way to her car, Vincente considered his options. Follow her back to Stillwater? Or stay here and find out if this really was Beth’s hiding place? He almost laughed aloud that he was even asking himself the question.
Once Laurie had driven away, he waited a few minutes to be sure she really had gone before leaving his car and going across to the house she had left. As he approached, he sized up the building. Nothing about it made him think of Beth. It had a slightly neglected air, as if the owner didn’t have the time, energy or money to spend on it. He contrasted that with the Stillwater house she had lived in. That had been as neat as wax. Being organized seemed to come effortlessly to Beth, spilling over into how she dressed, her surroundings and how she dealt with other people. Vincente wondered, not for the first time, if the reason she had struggled with their relationship was because she couldn’t neatly package up her feelings for him. When they were together there was no controlling what they felt. It had always been raw, primal...and incredible.
The thought spurred his feet up the front step. His heart was pounding so loud it almost drowned out the sound of his knock on the door. Prepared for disappointment, his nerves—already under intense pressure—were ratcheted up to crisis level when he heard a voice calling out.
“Did you forget something, Detective?” It wasn’t just any voice. It was Beth’s voice.
He wondered how she would react if she checked who it was through the peephole in the door. Her words indicated she thought Laurie had come back again, and he heard a key turn in the lock immediately after she spoke.
The door swung open and the smile on her lips faded. As she gazed at him in shock, Vincente took a moment to drink in her appearance. Her hair was shorter, just reaching her shoulders now instead of the waist-length mass in which he had loved to bury his hands. It was scraped back into an unflattering ponytail. She looked thinner. And tired, definitely tired. Almost to the point of exhaustion. But maybe the reason for that was sitting on her hip.
The baby wore pink sweatpants and a T-shirt with butterflies embroidered all over. Not quite a toddler, she was a perfect little girl. Her black hair clustered in a halo of curls around her head and she studied Vincente with eyes that were huge, dark and framed by thick, spiky lashes. The hint of olive to her skin and the full ruby lips were additional confirmation of his first suspicion. It was like looking in a mirror.
Vincente almost took a step back in shock as he gazed at his daughter.
The shock of seeing Vincente on her doorstep robbed Beth of the power to do anything. Thought, speech, movement—those basic functions deserted her just when she needed them most. The only thing she seemed capable of doing with any degree of competence was stare at him. Just stare...and maybe, deep down inside, feel the old longing to throw herself into his arms. But those days were gone. She wasn’t that person anymore. She didn’t have the luxury of acting on impulse where he was concerned. Where anything was concerned.
“What’s her name?” Vincente threw her off balance with the question. Like I was well-balanced before he asked.
“Lia.” It was surreal. She had pictured seeing him again so many times, but it had never been like this. She had imagined she would be cool and collected. Not that he would take away the ability to think of anything except how wonderful it was to see him again.
“You gave our daughter an Italian name?”
“No, my mother’s name was Amelia.” Even as she said the words, Beth realized her mistake. Vincente had said “our daughter,” and she hadn’t denied it. She lifted an impatient shoulder at the thought. Why would she deny it? Lia was his daughter. He only had to look at her to know that.
“Can I hold her?” Beth was amazed at the humble note in Vincente’s voice. It was something she had never heard before, had never imagined he was capable of.
“She’s not great with strangers.” She issued the warning just as Lia decided to take matters into her own hands.
Holding her plump little arms up to Vincente, she wriggled her body away from her mother and toward him. Beth was so surprised at this phenomenon that she could only stare in astonishment as she handed Lia over. Vincente gazed into his daughter’s big brown eyes with an expression of wonderment. In that instant, something inside Beth’s chest lurched.
“Woof,” Lia commented solemnly.
“It’s her only real word,” Beth explained. “She copies the dog.”
“Is that good or bad?” Vincente couldn’t seem to drag his eyes away from Lia’s face. “I don’t know anything about these things.”
“Well, she’s only eleven months, so she makes lots of sounds, but actual words aren’t really her thing.” For the second time that morning, she became conscious that she was keeping a visitor standing on the doorstep. But this wasn’t just any visitor. It was Vincente. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
Fire blazed in the dark depths of his eyes. She could see him fighting to keep his anger under control for Lia’s sake. When he spoke, his jaw muscles were rigid. “I agree. Finding out I have an eleven-month-old daughter that you didn’t have the decency to tell me about is the worst idea I’ve ever heard of.”
Vincente’s moods had no gray areas, only extremes, but his anger had never scared Beth. Now, it terrified her. Not because she feared he would hurt her. This was Vincente. She knew he was incapable of doing her any physical harm. It wasn’t fear of him that had made her flee Stillwater. But his gaze was a knife
