leaned over the crib, tears overflowing.
Another reason she hadn’t contacted him—her father had warned her that Night might try to take the baby from her, that the laws might even give him custody, let him carry their son to live on one of the reservations. She’d even wondered if Night might have discovered she’d had his baby and kidnapped him himself. And when her worst fears had overwhelmed her this past week, when she’d pictured her helpless infant at the mercy of a crazy person or a killer, she’d actually hoped that Night might have taken him. At least then she would know her son was safe.
But Night obviously hadn’t.
Her world spun, crumbling around her.
Where was her precious little boy? Was he still alive? She looked up through the window at the inky sky.
Was he out there somewhere, alone and scared, crying for his mother?
Chapter One
Late November
Where was her baby?
It had been four months since he’d gone missing. She’d thought for sure she’d have him back in her arms by Thanksgiving. Now Thanksgiving had come and gone.
Holly sat on the edge of her seat in her father’s study, twisting her sweating hands together, as she waited on him to finish the phone call.
Something was wrong.
She saw it in the way her father pulled at his chin and angled his face away from her. Between his hushed phone calls with the FBI and local police the past few days, the barrage of extra security on the house, the press hounding them and the claustrophobic feel of hiding out between the walls of the mansion for the past four months, her nerves had reached the hysteria level.
Why hadn’t they received a ransom note?
Why hadn’t someone called with information? And why didn’t her father tell her everything that was going on?
With every day that passed, the chances of finding her son grew slimmer and slimmer. She wasn’t sure she could take it anymore.
Her father dropped the phone into its cradle, sighed and pivoted in his leather chair to face her. His expression looked worried, but commanding, as always. Once again, she sensed he was holding back, hiding things from her. Why?
“Did they find anything?”
Her father shook his head slowly, drumming fingers on his chin. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. There’s no news.”
“There’s something,” Holly said, her voice a mere whisper. “I can see it in your eyes, Daddy. Now, tell me.”
He hesitated, then looked back at Holly’s mother, who had moved to stand behind him, one delicate hand placed on his shoulder. Her mother—the weaker one on the surface, but behind the scenes, the rock of the family, the one always offering support.
“I’m afraid the FBI’s ready to call this a cold case. They’ll leave the phone surveillance intact, but may have to pull back some on the investigation. Other cases…”
He let the sentence trail off and Holly sucked in a sharp breath. “They can’t give up.”
“I didn’t say they were giving up,” her father said. “Just pulling back. And ICU is still on the case.”
Holly glared at her dad. “What are you keeping from me? They found him, didn’t they? They found him and he’s dead, but you’re afraid to tell me.”
“No, Holly, good Lord. Calm down.” Her father raked a hand over his face. “There’s really no other news. I wish there was.”
She pressed a hand to her mouth to calm her emotions. She couldn’t stand the waiting. And her father knew more than he was confiding in her. She was certain of it.
The tension between them had been almost unbearable, since her confrontation with Night. During her pregnancy, Holly had suspected that her father had had some part in keeping Night away from her. Lately she had even wondered if he had orchestrated Schyler’s disappearance to punish her or teach her a lesson for seducing Night, or to gain sympathy for Joshua’s campaign. Politics meant everything to her father. But now Joshua had won the election. If that had been the motive for the kidnapping, there was no longer a reason to keep Sky from home.
Sometimes, her dad seemed genuinely concerned, as if he was really worried about her and his grandchild. As if he feared some horrible thing had happened to her baby. But he had been keeping the details of the case from her, treating her like a child, and she couldn’t stand it any longer.
“You know, sweetheart,” he said in a low tone, “you…we all might have to come to terms with the fact that we might never find Schyler.”
“What?” Holly gasped. She must have heard him wrong.
Celia pressed a shaky hand to her mouth, then moved toward Holly, reaching out her arms. “I don’t want to hear that either,” she said. “But your father’s right. This ordeal is killing you, I can see it—”
Tears burned Holly’s eyes. “You don’t care if we get my baby back!”
“That’s not true and you know it, Holly,” Celia said in a more forceful voice. “But it’s tearing us all apart, the three of us are on pins and needles. I can’t handle watching you suffer so. I see you wake up every day with hope, then go to bed with it shattered at night. You’re not eating, not sleeping.”
Holly’s throat constricted. “How can I sleep and eat when my son is missing?”
Her father stood, shook his head and stared out the window at the gardens beyond. “We’ve done everything we can do.”
“No!” Her heart broke at his words. “I will never accept that my baby’s not coming back. Never.”
Holly backed toward the door, then spun around and ran from the room, tears blinding her as she took the steps two at a time to the empty nursery.
HER BABY NEEDED HER..
Holly rolled over and squinted through the darkened interior of her bedroom, the sound of her son’s cry warming her. He was safe and sound in his crib, but he needed feeding. Again. She hadn’t realized how often infants ate, how exhausting it would be to care for a baby.
How precious every moment she had with him was until she’d lost him.
She appreciated it now—now he’d been found and brought back to her.
Regardless of the fact that she’d just fallen asleep, Holly tossed the duvet aside, shoved her feet into her bedroom shoes and grabbed her robe. She cinched it at her waist, shoving a tangle of unruly hair from her face as she hurried through the adjoining bathroom to her son’s room. The pale glow of the night-light bathed the room, her son’s whimpers a soft blip in the otherwise quiet nursery.
She could already see his chubby arms waving, his legs cycling the air, kicking off the covers, his dark brown eyes scrunched, searching through the darkness for her. She began to
