sank onto the couch, suddenly light-headed. “That’s all I had left,” she whispered. Worse, it confirmed her worst fears. Someone had been following her since she’d left San Antonio. Burning her car had been a message.
Dear God, the car had been her home for the past few weeks. She’d let her apartment go, sold her furniture and everything else to allow her to continue her search. Now that she’d found Jacob…what next?
How could she start over when she didn’t have enough money in her bank account for a cup of coffee and all her credit cards were maxed out? She didn’t have enough money to hire a cab to take her back to town, much less hire a lawyer to sue for custody. Despair, fear, joy, the emotions drained every last bit of fight left in her.
No car and no money meant she’d never get her child back. Even if she did, would she provide a safe home for him? Who was after her? What did he want? Why burn her car? Her head spun with the unending barrage of questions.
Then she heard a child’s happy squeal echoing against the walls. Her back stiffened and she forced herself to a standing position, facing the sheriff. “That was my car, Sheriff.”
“Since it appears to be arson, we have to have it towed to the impound lot for a thorough investigation. I’ll need a statement from both you and Mr. Vincent, seeing as how the car was found in the creek, which is part of Mr. Vincent’s property.”
“Were there any tracks or clues as to who might have done it?” Tate asked.
Sheriff Thompson shook his head. “I arrived just minutes before the pump truck. They sucked every last drop of their tank dry putting out the fire and tamping down the dry brush around the site. Nothing left but mud and ashes.” He turned to Sylvia. “Why did you park in the creek anyway, Ms….?”
“Michaels, Sylvia Michaels.” Sylvia swallowed and looked down at her dirty hands. “I needed to see Mr. Vincent.” She glanced up, her gaze clashing with Tate’s.
His brown eyes narrowed and he shook his head slightly, almost imperceptibly.
Sylvia turned toward the sheriff. “On a personal matter.”
“So you trespassed.” Sheriff Thompson’s brows rose. “You sure you didn’t light the fire in the car yourself?”
“No, sir.” Nor could she tell either of the men that she thought she was in danger. What court in the land would give her custody of any child if they thought her unfit to provide a safe haven for him?
“Really, Tate, you trust this woman in your home? She just admitted to hiding her car so that she could get in to see you?” Kacee rolled her eyes. “If that isn’t crazy, I don’t know what is.”
“It’s up to you, Mr. Vincent. I’m headed back to town. I can take her with me. Just say the word.”
Tate Vincent stared at Sylvia for a long, drawn-out moment.
Her heart hammered blood through her veins, pounding against her eardrums, but she refused to look away from his intense gaze. She pushed her shoulders back and her chin tipped upward just slightly. If she had to, she’d beg to stay. But for now, he needed to know she wasn’t backing down.
“She can stay.” His eyes narrowed even more. “For now.”
Kacee snorted. “Tate, be reasonable.”
“Thank you, Sheriff Thompson. Let us know what you find out about the car.” Tate walked toward the front entrance, opened the door and held it for the sheriff.
The sheriff gave Sylvia one last look, plunked his hat on his head and took the hint. “I’ll be in touch.”
Once the sheriff had descended the stairs and climbed into his SUV with the word sheriff marked in bold letters on both sides, Tate let the screen door swing shut.
Sylvia braced herself for the storm to come.
“What are you going to do with her now?” Kacee asked, her high-heeled foot tapping against the wooden floor.
“On your way home, contact Dr. Richards. Tell him I want a DNA sampling kit out here ASAP.”
Kacee flipped her phone open. “I’ll just call him, now.”
Tate glared at her. “Do it on your way out, Kacee. I don’t need your services for the rest of the afternoon.”
“But—”
The man stopped her next words with the look on his face.
Sylvia almost felt sorry for the woman, except for the fact she would have happily shot her for trespassing. Once the millionaire’s assistant left, Sylvia would be alone with Tate Vincent. In his current mood, the meeting wouldn’t be pleasant. But at least she could speak plainly when they were alone.
She’d let him know she’d fight with every last breath to get her son back. But she wouldn’t tell him her breath and the clothes on her back were all she had left to her name.
Tate stood at the door, holding it open much as he’d done for the sheriff. Kacee pouted, her brows drawing together as she gathered her briefcase and car keys. “We haven’t gone over the figures on the purchase of the Double Diamond Ranch.”
“Tomorrow.” He held the door and waved his hand, inviting her through.
Kacee sucked in a deep breath and blew it out, crossing the threshold as directed. When she passed by Tate, she leaned close to him. “She’s nothing but trouble, I tell you.”
“I can handle it.”
“I know…without me.” She glared over her shoulder at Sylvia.
Tate shut the door behind Kacee and stared after her as she climbed into her car and drove away. Not until her dust trail cleared the driveway did he drag in a deep breath and turn to Sylvia standing quietly behind him.
“You know I’m telling the truth, don’t you?” Sylvia whispered. “You know Jacob is my son.”
Anger bolted through him. “No, I don’t know anything.” But that niggle of doubt made him more afraid than any other time in his life. Losing Jake ranked right up there with losing his father. Jake was family. He couldn’t lose him. “What other proof do you have that you ever had a child?”
Sylvia reached into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and a tattered photograph. “His birth certificate and a photograph of him when he was four months old.” Her lips twisted in a semblance of a smile and she shook her head. “They are the only things I have left of Jacob. Everything else was in my car.” Tears filled her eyes, making them a shimmering blue, so like Jake’s when he didn’t want to lie down for his nap.
Rosa always told Tate to let Jake cry himself to sleep, let him learn to soothe himself. But Tate couldn’t, not when the child looked up at him through those liquid blue eyes. He wanted to hold him, make the fear go away, make him know that nothing on the earth would take this child away from him.
Tate’s fists tightened and he resisted the draw of Sylvia’s blue, watery eyes. He snatched the paper and the photograph from her hands. Prolonging the inevitable,
