them for hours. His last victim was attacked for days. I’m sure he wanted to do the same to you, but he couldn’t handle kidnapping both you and Patrick at the same time.”
“So he settled for Patrick.”
“For now.” Dex looked her straight in the eye. He hated being this blunt, but Alyson had to face the facts. Smythe had Patrick, and she was next. And who knew what other targets Smythe had on his list? No one or nothing Dex had ever cared about was safe.
“But how did he know about us, Dex? We didn’t exactly announce our relationship from the rooftops. How would he know that you and I were once involved? That Patrick was your child?”
“That’s one of the things I’m going to find out.”
Straightening her spine, she set her chin. “So where do we start?”
“We keep you safe. I’ll post officers outside your house twenty-four seven. And I’ll look into getting you an alarm system. I’ll keep you updated on everything I learn. I promise.”
“No. I’m not going to stay trapped in my house. I don’t care what Smythe is planning. I have to do something to get my baby back.” Tears spiked her lashes, but her voice carried a note of determination.
“Alyson—”
“I mean it, Dex. If you don’t let me help you, I’ll figure something out on my own.”
The thought of Alyson by his side made his shoulders ache like a son of a bitch. But he couldn’t let her walk around without protection.
Thrusting himself to his feet, Dex paced across the room. Damn Smythe and his sick revenge. Damn the governor and his pardons. And damn Alyson for failing to tell him he had a son until the baby was kidnapped.
But most of all, damn him for letting her latest betrayal wound him all over again.
He strode for the door without looking at her. He couldn’t. Looking at her would only make him want to take her into his arms again when he would be far better off to run in the other direction. “There are fresh sheets in the guest room closet. We’ll leave for the prison where Smythe was incarcerated first thing in the morning.”
LOCATED IN GRANT COUNTY, a skip and a jump from the Mississippi River, the Grant Correctional Institute loomed on one of the few plateaus in an area of sharp hills and sweeping gorges—Wisconsin’s unglaciated region. Alyson had always thought the area was beautiful. But today she hardly noticed the scenery whizzing past the car window. She hardly noticed anything except the man sitting next to her, his hands gripping the steering wheel.
Tall and fit, he looked every bit as appealing as the first time she’d met him. The pull of attraction had reached into her chest and grabbed her by the heart when her father had introduced her to his protégé, the newest assistant district attorney in the office. But it wasn’t until she’d talked to him later that night, until she’d seen his intelligence and humor and idealism that she’d lost her heart.
And she still hadn’t recovered it. Of course now it was bloody and wounded. Damaged goods. As was she. Especially in Dex’s eyes.
No matter what had happened between them, she could never regret their time together. She couldn’t even regret her shattered heart. Because if it weren’t for Dex, she wouldn’t have Patrick. And any kind of pain was worth enduring for one moment of holding her little boy in her arms.
Patrick. Her arms ached to hold him. When she’d awakened this morning, she’d felt more alone than the day her father died. Even the months of hiding her pregnancy, going through childbirth and waking at night to care for Patrick hadn’t been as hard. Now Patrick was gone. Now she had no one. And no way of ensuring that her baby was safe and fed and cared for.
She focused on the road ahead. “What are we looking for at the prison?”
“Someone helped Smythe smuggle his blood out. That’s the only way it could have ended up under that woman’s fingernails—the woman who claims she was raped.”
“So we check the prison sign-in sheet?”
“And phone logs. I want to see who he’s been talking to.”
“I assume you’ve questioned the alleged rape victim?”
“The police talked to her when she reported the rape. But she disappeared right after your lab discovered the blood was a match with Smythe’s. Area sheriffs’ departments have been looking for her ever since. That leaves only the person who smuggled Smythe’s blood out of prison.”
“Maybe that person was her. What was her name?”
“Connie Rasula. And it’s doubtful she did the smuggling. The police found nothing to tie her to Smythe. And they looked hard, believe me.”
She could imagine. No one in law enforcement liked to be thrown a curve ball like the one they’d been tossed. If they couldn’t clear up the question about Smythe’s DNA double, DNA evidence could be called into question in courtrooms across the country. But to her, that possibility paled in comparison to the prospect of never seeing her son again. “So we find out who visited him.”
Dex nodded, his gaze glued to the twisting road ahead. “And hope we come away with some answers.”
“Hope? That isn’t very reassuring.”
“It’s all I have. If you have a better idea, spit it out.”
Alyson bit her bottom lip and stared out the windshield as Dex pulled the car up to the outer gate of the prison. Rolls of razor wire glinted in the sun. Sharp and brutal and unforgiving.
She shivered. Just the thought of venturing inside the gates with the kind of men she did her part to put behind bars every day—men like Andrew Smythe—made her skin crawl. But if it meant finding a name on those visitor logs or phone records that would lead them to Patrick, she would walk a gauntlet through the cell blocks alone.
She glanced at Dex. Jaw set and eyes narrowed, he looked ready to fight the world. Despite his anger toward her, despite his judgment of her, despite all that had happened between them, he was with her now. And he would fight with her to find their son.
For the first time in over a year, she didn’t have to fight alone.
DEX LEANED against the stainless-steel counter in the prison vestibule and paged through the visitor’s log, scanning for Smythe’s name in the Inmate Visited column. Alyson stood beside him, close enough to read the names scrawled on the battered pages. Too close. Her body heat made the already warm day that much warmer. Her sweet scent teased his senses. And when she moved her head, wisps of auburn hair trailed across his arm.
Having her sleep under his roof last night had been pure torture. Even though the master bedroom was on the main floor of his house and the guest bedroom was upstairs, she’d been far too close to afford him any semblance of a night’s sleep. And even when he did manage to shut his eyes, dreams of the son he’d never seen haunted him.
He forced his attention to the names in the sign-in book. He had to concentrate. He had to find a lead, any lead, that would take him to Patrick. They’d found nothing of note in the prison’s telephone logs. Only an occasional call to Smythe’s lawyer. He prayed these pages would reveal something.
