to the desk in the far corner of the room, removed a gun from the drawer and dropped the clip from the chamber. From another drawer he retrieved bullets, sliding them into the clip. “But it doesn’t hurt to be cautious.”
“Good grief. I’m not here to hurt anyone. I only want my son.” Sylvia Michaels, eyes wide and face pale, backed toward the door, her hands raised.
“Take one more step, and I’ll shoot,” Tate warned.
She paused for only a moment, her gaze connecting with his, determination hardening her chin. Then she spun around, throwing her parting comment over her shoulder. “Then just shoot me.”
Chapter Three
With a gun pointed at her back, Sylvia’s skin crawled, but she pushed forward, headed for a hallway and the sound of a baby squealing happily.
“Damned woman.” The cowboy cursed behind her, his boots clattering against the wooden flooring.
“Give me the gun, Tate. I’ll shoot her,” the woman Sylvia assumed was the assistant called out.
If Sylvia had any chance at all of seeing Jacob, she’d have to move faster than the two people behind her. She shot away from the man holding the gun, her heart pounding in her chest. Several doors opened off the hallway, only one remained closed and the joyous sounds of a baby could be heard through the wood paneling. Without slowing, she grabbed the handle and opened the door.
A large hand clamped down so hard on her shoulder she jerked to a halt, unable to move another step.
She caught a glimpse of a baby boy sitting in a high chair, a cracker clutched in his fist. All she got was that little peek before Tate Vincent flung her around and shoved her against the hallway wall. “You hurt one hair on my son’s head and I’ll kill you.”
With the door wide-open, the sounds of the baby’s cooing reached her, warmth spreading throughout her body, filling all the cold, empty places she’d endured since Jacob had been stolen away from her in Mexico. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. “Please.” She sniffed, unashamed of begging for a chance to see her son. “Please. I want to see him. If he’s not mine, I’ll leave.”
For a long moment, the man glared down at her, his heavy hand never leaving her shoulder. Based on his size, he’d probably be ten times stronger than her. More than Sylvia could hope to fight off, but she would do anything to see Jacob again.
“You say your son was abducted six months ago. How will you recognize him besides the birthmark? Babies change a lot in six months.”
“I’ll know,” she said. Didn’t mothers always know the cries of their own babies? After six months of searching, she’d almost given up hope. Could this cowboy be right? Would she recognize her son? Her shoulders pushed back and she wiped the tears from her eyes with an angry hand. “I’ll know.”
Another long moment passed, Tate’s eyes narrowing into slits. “How do I know you’re not here to hurt him?”
“Oh, God.” A nervous, almost hysterical laugh escaped her lips. “I wouldn’t hurt my own son. I’ve spent the past six months looking for him, hoping no one has hurt him. I just want to see him. That’s all I ask.” She’d work on custody once she was satisfied the baby truly was Jacob. “Don’t you see? You could be just as much a victim as I am. My baby was stolen. Your baby could have been signed over to you illegally.”
“I met the mother, she signed the papers, I adopted him. My lawyer went over the paperwork at least a dozen times.”
“Still, you could have been duped. The baby may not have been that woman’s to give.”
He smacked the hand holding the gun flat against the wall. “The contract was ironclad. You’re a liar!”
Sylvia winced, but stared up at him, meeting his glare with a level stare. “I don’t lie.”
“And if my son has this birthmark, that doesn’t prove anything.”
“Maybe not. If the birthmark is there, then we do a DNA test.” How she’d come up with the money, she didn’t know, but she’d get her baby back if she had to sell her soul to the devil himself.
The baby giggled in the next room, so joyous and innocent.
All the motherly longing she’d buried deep inside surged into her chest, squeezing her lungs so hard she couldn’t breathe. “Just let me see him.”
The man’s eyes narrowed even more. “I don’t trust you.”
“Search me. I’m not carrying any weapons. I only want to see if he has the birthmark. I won’t try to take him away. I won’t hurt him.” Her voice caught on a sob, rising up to choke her. “I need to know.”
“You’re not buying this crap are you?” The woman in the business suit stood with her hands held out in front of her, a small pistol clutched between her fingers.
Tate Vincent shot a stern look at her. “Put the gun down, Kacee.”
The beautiful assistant pouted. “You take away all my fun.”
“Put it down.” Tate stared at Sylvia, his words directed at Kacee. “I can handle this. I don’t want my son injured by a stray bullet.”
The other woman’s hand lowered. “Good point. Besides, the sheriff should be here any moment.”
“Why don’t you go watch for him.”
Kacee frowned. “But, what if…”
“Just go,” Tate bit out. “I can handle this.” He stared down at Sylvia, his steely brown-eyed gaze boring into her. When Kacee rounded the corner, he growled, “Why should I believe any of this?”
Tired, dizzy and beyond her endurance, Sylvia stared back at the millionaire who could have had her physically removed by now, but for some unknown reason hadn’t. “If you had your child stolen from you, would you just let him go?”
The man holding her arm continued to glare, the silence lengthening between them. When Sylvia thought he wouldn’t respond to her question, the man sighed, his grip loosening. “No, I would never stop looking.”
“Exactly.” Hope blossomed in her chest, a smile trembling on her lips. “Then you’ll let me see him?”
His hold stiffened. “I didn’t say that.”
She raised her hand to peel his fingers loose from her arm. “Please. I’ve been searching for so long. If there is any chance the baby in there is mine…”
For a brief moment, Tate’s face grew haggard, then his mouth tightened, the expression returning to the cold hard mask of a harsh businessman. “Are you prepared if the boy isn’t yours?”
“If he has the birthmark—”
“I repeat, the birthmark proves nothing.” Tate’s hand squeezed tighter. She’d have a bruise there by morning.
“If he has the birthmark, will you agree to a DNA test?” To be this
