a nasty spill on a ski trip and fractured his wrist. It should have been little more than a minor inconvenience, but she knew now that that was when his addiction began. He’d taken the painkillers so he wouldn’t have to slow down for so much as a second. He hadn’t wanted to miss making a single commission. He’d never stopped.
She had cursed herself a thousand times for not realizing he was hooked. She was a doctor, for heaven’s sake. She should have caught the signs, but she was too busy herself. In her own way, she was every bit as much of an overachiever as Paul.
Then there was a traffic accident. Paul’s injuries were minor, the other driver’s only slightly worse, but the routine bloodwork the police insisted on had revealed a high level of painkillers in his system. Confronted, he’d promised to stop taking them.
Shaken to the core, Kelsey had searched the house, found every last pill herself and flushed them all down the toilet. She had warned Paul to get help or lose her. She had wanted desperately to believe that he loved her and Bobby enough to quit.
A month later, she’d realized that her prescription pad was missing. Suspicious, she had made calls to half a dozen pharmacies, verified that her husband had gotten pills at every one of them and at who knew how many more. He had forged her signature on every prescription.
She had seen a lawyer that same day and had the divorce and custody papers drawn up. It was a drastic course of action, but she hadn’t known what else to do. She had prayed that maybe the sight of the divorce papers would shock him into getting help. It hadn’t. He’d simply taken more pills and blamed her for backing him into a corner.
She had known then that she couldn’t let him ruin their lives, destroy her reputation. That night she had made a shaken and contrite Paul sign the papers. A week later, she’d moved to Texas, praying that he really would get the help he needed.
Now this. God help her, but she would kill him if he did anything to hurt her baby.
“We have to find him,” she whispered.
“Which is why I called Dylan,” Lizzy soothed. “He’ll find him. Trish says he’s the best private eye in Houston. Unlike Justin, he’s probably handled cases like this a zillion times. He’ll be fast and discreet.”
“Where is he?” Kelsey whispered, her desperation mounting with every second that passed. Unless he’d spent it all on pills, Paul had plenty of money, enough to run to the ends of the earth. She might never find him or her baby.
“Shouldn’t he be here by now?” she asked, edgy with impatience and ever-growing fear.
Lizzy glanced toward the doorway just then and smiled. “Here he is right now.” She stood up, offering her seat opposite Kelsey at the kitchen table. “Dylan, this is Bobby’s mom, Kelsey James. Doctor Kelsey James.”
Kelsey felt her ice-cold hand being enveloped in a strong, reassuring grip. His size registered, too. He was a big man. Solid, with coal-black hair and a grim expression. She focused on his eyes, blue eyes that were clearly taking in everything. She had the feeling that his gaze missed nothing, that he could leave the room and describe every person, every item in it. At the same time there was a distance there, a cool detachment. Funny how she found that reassuring. He was a professional, she reminded herself, just what she needed. The best. He would find Bobby and bring him back. That was all that mattered.
“Tell me what happened,” he suggested in a voice that was surprisingly gentle. He sounded almost as if he truly understood her pain. “Tell me exactly what you did, beginning with the moment you realized your boy was gone. Where was he? How long had he been out of your sight?”
“I’ve already told Justin everything,” she said, not sure she could handle going over it again. It seemed surreal, as if she hadn’t lived through it at all.
“Tell me,” he said insistently. “I might catch something that Justin missed. Or you might remember something else. Every little detail is important.”
He listened intently as Kelsey described everything that had happened, but when she mentioned Paul, something in his attentive expression changed. That disturbing coolness she’d noticed before subtly shifted into what she could only describe as icy disdain. He gazed at her with such piercing intensity that she shivered.
“You have full custody of your son?” he asked, as if it were some sort of crime.
She nodded, unsure why that seemed to unsettle him so.
“When was the last time the father saw him?” he asked, an inexplicable edge in his voice.
“Before we left Miami, about ten months ago. That was our agreement,” she said, not explaining about the other part of that agreement, about her promise not to turn Paul in to the authorities. No one except Lizzy knew about that and no one ever would.
“You believe this was an abduction by a noncustodial parent,” he said, summing up what she’d told him.
“I’m sure of it.”
“Has he threatened to take Bobby before?”
“No, but—”
“Then why are you so certain?”
“I just am. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Bobby wouldn’t go off with a stranger, not without raising a fuss. Besides, I don’t have enemies. I don’t make a lot of money, so a demand for ransom’s hardly likely. If someone wanted money in this town, they’d take an Adams.”
He nodded. He might be an outsider here, just as she was, but he obviously knew who had the power and the fortune.
“You haven’t treated any kids who didn’t make it, whose parents might blame you?” he asked.
“No. Not since Miami.” There had been a few inconsolable parents back then who’d wanted to cast blame on someone, anyone, and she’d been the easiest target. “People who lose a child aren’t always thinking clearly, but there were no malpractice suits. I doubt any of them would pursue me to Texas.”
“Okay, then, let’s assume it’s your ex. Have you got a picture of him? And I’ll need one of Bobby, too. The most recent one you have.”
Relief flooded through her at his concrete suggestions. At last, something she could do. She went for the photo albums she kept in the living room, took out the most recent picture of Paul, then another of Bobby from his birthday party just a few weeks earlier. Ironically, the latest one she had of Paul had been taken on that ill-fated ski trip that had started his downward spiral.
“You’re going to help?” she asked as she handed the pictures to Dylan.
The question had been rhetorical, but for a moment she actually thought he might refuse. His expression was grim. He looked as if he wanted to say no. In fact, the word seemed to be on the tip of his tongue, but with Lizzy and others looking on expectantly, he finally sighed heavily.
“I’ll help,” he said at last.
After he’d gone, Kelsey kept telling herself that was a good thing, that she could count on this man, because Lizzy had said she could. But in her heart she kept wondering about that tiny hint of reluctance. It had something to do with her custody agreement with Paul. She was sure of it. Until she had mentioned that, Dylan Delacourt had been on her side. Now
