us go!”
“You wanted to talk to me.”
“Not anymore!”
“You cannot hold her against her will,” said the officer who had been interviewing her.
She’d pursued him almost fanatically, yet now when he granted her his attention, Marie Cadant looked as if she’d give all she owned to be anywhere else. Peter knew he couldn’t allow her to go until they resolved the matter. “I can’t let you leave. You heard the cop—you can’t drive right now. It’s too dangerous.” His fingers tightened until he managed to make her focus on him again.
Marie gulped in several deep breaths. In spite of the terror of the moment, Peter’s assertive tone sliced through some of her fear. She felt his body ease away a bit, felt his sigh gust across her face, and barely heard his soft praise. “Good. There you go. You’re going to be all right. Come sit down.”
When he shifted to the side, his hand rotated so he kept hold of her, but his arm slipped beneath hers to brace her. He executed the move easily, capably, as if he were accustomed to dealing with balking, emotional women. Her fright caused a strange split to take place. Marie felt oddly removed—almost as if she were a spectator who could see silly details. The numbness wore off the second his other hand came across and pressed against Ricky’s little back.
Her hold on Ricky tightened so intensely, she accidentally squeezed Mr. Hallock’s arm between her arm and ribs. He studied her for a long moment, then gently stroked up and down Ricky’s back. “I’d offer to carry him, but he needs you too much right now.”
She bobbed her head in jerky affirmation. When Peter Hallock tried leading her off to the right, she couldn’t seem to comply. Her feet stayed rooted to the ground. Every shred of maternal instinct screamed at her to shove Ricky back into the car and flee, yet she couldn’t.
Peter gave her arm a tiny squeeze. Tall and broad-shouldered as he was, he overshadowed Marie and intensified her sense of vulnerability. It took a moment for her to realize his eyes no longer snapped with temper—they were dark brown pools of concern. “Ms. Cadant,” he said quietly, “that was a bad scare, but it’s over. You and the boy are safe.”
She shook her head. Safe? Oh, no. Peter Hallock simply didn’t know the truth—and her truth jeopardized all they both held dear. With a stilted gait, Marie accompanied him down a herringbone brick path to a bench that couldn’t be seen from the road. It rested in the shelter of a long, tall hedge and faced a small, circular patch of bright, multicolored spring flowers.
“See? Nice and quiet.” Peter’s voice took on a coaxing tone. “We can talk here.”
A verdant lawn dotted with croquet wickets stretched almost fifty yards between that area and the house. Marie looked back over her shoulder and felt a small flash of relief that the cops hadn’t left. Peter Hallock led her over to a wrought-iron bench. She sank onto it and automatically turned to the side, away from Peter, in a vain effort to keep little Ricky as her very own for even a few more precious seconds.
Peter sat down right beside her and stayed silent—as if he expected her to explain everything. Though she tried to gather her wits, Marie knew no matter how much she’d prayed, she wasn’t ready for this moment. Firmly, yet gently, Peter managed to wrap an arm about her shoulders and turn her around. He tenderly ran his long fingers through Ricky’s hair. “Hey, tiger.”
“Mommy!”
“He’s a mama’s boy?”
Marie nodded. She gratefully accepted the snowy handkerchief Peter produced from the inside chest pocket of his stylish, charcoal suit coat and still kept hold of Ricky. She mopped her boy’s sweet little cheeks, then nestled the child’s face in the crook of her neck and rested her cheek on his crown. Giving Peter a stricken look, she took several choppy breaths. I can’t do this. I can’t tell him. She’d come this far, but her courage failed her. “We won’t ever bother you again.”
The way he stared at her for many long seconds and carefully scanned each of her features heightened her anxiety. She felt a small flash of relief that she’d tucked Ricky in so closely. Mr. Hallock wouldn’t be able to see his features well at all. Maybe she could still slip away from him.
Seconds ticked by. Each heartbeat hurt more than the last. The man beside her had razor-cut mahogany hair that glinted in the sun, just like Ricky’s did. His eyes were the color of dark chocolate—just like Ricky’s. His look of intense concentration, the shape of his nose…just like Ricky’s. Though everything within her railed against it, Marie couldn’t deny the truth. This is Ricky’s fath—
He shattered the fragile stillness. “How old is he, Marie?”
She nervously licked her lips. In a thin voice, she offered, “Three.” She patted her son’s back and murmured his name over and over again in a mournful chant as his tears tapered off into the hiccups.
“So you named him Ricky. What’s his birth date?”
She didn’t want to tell him. Now that the time arrived, it was too hard, too miserable. Marie gnawed on her trembling lower lip. God, he’s not going to let me slip away. I’m going to have to go through with it. Please give me strength….
He jostled her a little and persisted, “Marie, when’s Ricky’s birthday? Tell me.”
“April Fool’s Day.”
Peter closed his eyes for a second, then opened them again. In a slowly exhaled breath, he asked for confirmation, “Did I hear you tell the cop he was born at Melway General?”
Marie nodded. She held her little boy and began rocking to and fro, as much to comfort herself as to soothe him. She desperately needed comforting. Steeling herself with a deep breath, Marie forged into the dark waves of doubt. “I started to have seizures during the labor, so they did an emergency cesarean. I didn’t get to hold him for the first three days. My grandmother had red hair, so I didn’t think anything was wrong.” She studied Peter’s mahogany hair and fell silent.
“What happened?”
Still remembering the hazy days surrounding the birth, she murmured a rambling, “I had severe toxemia…sedated me…said I had a seizure, but I don’t recall it…woke up in the intensive care unit…”
He nodded sagely as he absorbed her explanation, then asked, “How did you decide Ricky isn’t yours?”
Her arms spasmed around her son. “He is mine! Ricky is mine! I’ve loved him and—”
Peter gently pressed two fingers to her lips to quiet her and interrupted, “I meant biologically unrelated, Marie.” He gave her an apologetic smile, then broke contact.
She tried to settle down. “The last week has been horrible. I’m sorry I’m so snappish.”
“It’s understandable. Tell me what happened last week.”
“The day-care center where I work had medical students come do physicals on the children. They did lab work and head-to-toe checkups. When I got Ricky’s results, I thought they’d made a mistake. A kid can’t have AB-negative blood when both parents have O positive.”
“I’m AB negative,” he whispered hoarsely.
She
