voice say, “Hello?”
“I came for you tonight, Alyson.” The voice slithered from the phone.
She gripped the receiver until her knuckles ached. “Where’s my baby?”
“Like I said, I came for you tonight, but I found something better.”
“Where’s my baby?” Her voice broke, shrill with panic.
“He’s safe. For now. But if you call the police, he won’t be safe for long.”
Oh, God. Oh, God. Her mind raced. She didn’t know what to do. “Don’t hurt him. Please. I’ll pay you anything you want.”
“I don’t need your money.”
“Then what? What do you want me to do?”
A chuckle erupted over the phone. “I was waiting for you to ask that. I want you to contact the baby’s father.”
“The baby’s father?”
“You know who he is, don’t you, Alyson? Or do you need to do a DNA test to find out?”
She did her best to swallow her panic. She had to stay calm. She had to stay focused. She had to convince this man she would do whatever he wanted. As long as he didn’t hurt Patrick, as long as he gave her baby back, everything would be all right. “I know who he is.”
“Good. It’s much better when you don’t have to rely on DNA. It’s such an unpredictable science. All those double helixes running around, or whatever the hell. You never quite know when you’re going to get an inconvenient match that will ruin all your plans.”
Understanding cut through the fog of panic and confusion clouding her mind. The chloroform. The rope. All elements of the rapes he’d been convicted for two years ago. She knew who was on the other end. She knew who had stolen her baby. “Smythe.”
“Can’t put anything past you smart scientist types.” A chuckle rippled over the phone line, vulgar, obscene. “How about that justice system? Isn’t it great?”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Revenge. Pure and sweet.” His voice lost the chuckle and grew dark. “You see, I know who fathered your bastard, too, Alyson. And no man condemns me to two years in that hellhole of a prison and gets away with it. No man. I want you to tell him that.”
How in the world had Smythe learned Dex was Patrick’s father? Alyson hadn’t told a soul. She’d taken a leave of absence from work to hide her pregnancy. She hadn’t even listed Dex on Patrick’s birth certificate. But it didn’t matter how Smythe had learned the truth, he was planning to use the baby against Dex. She couldn’t let that happen. “Your plan isn’t going to work, Smythe. Dex doesn’t even know about Patrick.”
“He will after you tell him.”
Tell Dex? She couldn’t tell Dex. Not now. Not after all this time. “But I—”
“You what?”
Her knees wobbled. She sank onto the bed, grasping the edge with one hand to keep her balance. “I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll tell him tonight.”
“I thought you’d see things my way. You want me happy, Alyson. For your baby’s sake, you want me happy. Understand?”
“Yes, I understand.” She forced herself to breathe. She had to do something. Anything. Spotting the Memo button on the answering machine, she pushed it. At least she could get Smythe’s voice on tape. She’d have proof of his threats. “After I tell Dex, then what?”
“I’ll call.”
“Can’t you tell me more now? Can’t I do something? Please.” She couldn’t just sit and wait. Not while Patrick was in the hands of this monster. Not while her baby was hungry and cold and wanted his mother. Not while Smythe might—
She bit the inside of her cheek until the coppery taste of blood tinged her mouth. She couldn’t think about what Smythe might do to Patrick. She couldn’t function if she thought about that.
“You just let Harrington know he has a son. I’ll be in touch.”
“Please. You can’t do this. Give him back to—”
The line went dead.
ANDY SMYTHE pulled his sweet, red Corvette to the curb in front of the little ranch house and killed the engine. Alyson Fitzroy’s questions and challenges still rang in his ears. Damn. A woman’s mouth was only good for one thing, and it sure as hell wasn’t talking. He couldn’t stand women who talked too much. Especially the smart, superior types like Alyson Fitzroy. He would have loved to do what he’d gone to her house to do. He would have loved to grab her by her long red hair and put her in her place. He had been looking forward to it.
But then he’d seen the baby.
He glanced at the sleeping bundle next to him on the passenger seat. His little pajama-clad body. His nearly white hair that barely covered his scalp.
Andy had learned a lot about Dex Harrington while he’d been stewing in that hellhole. A lot about him. He knew Harrington and the redhead had been tight. They’d almost been married, the private investigator he’d hired had said. That’s why Andy had chosen her as his first after getting out of prison. That coupled with the fact that she’d performed the DNA test that had gotten him out of prison seemed too ironic a combination to pass up. But seeing the kid had thrown him. He’d figured the kid had to be Harrington’s.
Just as his chat with the redhead had confirmed.
Andy gathered the sleeping kid in his arms. Throwing the strap of the bag filled with baby things he’d swiped from the bedroom over his other shoulder, Andy climbed out of his Vette. He carried the child to the door of the house and rang the bell.
A light blinked on in the bedroom. Great. Nanny had been asleep. She wouldn’t be happy with him for waking her, but it couldn’t be helped. As soon as she saw the baby, she’d forgive him. Nanny never could hold a grudge.
The frilly white curtain over the front door’s small window lifted and a withered eye peered out. It widened in surprise. The curtain fell and the door rattled then opened.
“Do you know what time it is, Andy?” Nanny stood in the doorway watching him with stern yet gentle eyes, the way she used to every day when he was growing up.
For a moment he felt like a puny little kid again, crawling to Nanny for comfort after his mother had treated him to another of her cruel and belittling tirades.
He shoved the feeling aside and stepped past the old woman and into the house. He would never be puny and weak. Never again. And neither Dex Harrington’s scathing words nor Alyson Fitzroy’s superior tone would make it so. Tonight he hadn’t come for Nanny’s comfort. He’d come for her help. He walked into a tiny living room jammed with so much furniture it would have looked like a warehouse if not for the crocheted doilies covering every surface.
Nanny followed him on tottering legs. “What do you have there? A child?”
He turned
