Читать книгу Wild Stallion - Delores Fossen - Страница 7

Bailey blinked back the tears. She couldn’t cry. She’d save those tears for later. For now, she needed to get off the Malone estate and away from whoever had been alerted because of Jackson Malone’s suspicions about her.

Her face had no doubt been caught on a security camera. She’d anticipated cameras of course, but she hadn’t anticipated that she would alarm the estate owner to the point where he would have her investigated.

It’d been a huge mistake to come here today.

She wanted to kick herself for not being able to resist the chance to see the baby that Jackson Malone was adopting. Now, her weakness had put her in a position where she had to regroup. Heaven knows how long it would be before she got another opportunity to get back on the grounds and see the baby.

The estate road leading to the highway was a series of deep curves, and she had to ease up on the accelerator. She certainly couldn’t risk crashing into one of the massive pecan trees that were on each side of her.

An injury could delay her search.

Bailey spotted the wrought iron gates just ahead. In only a few seconds she’d be on the highway where she could turn onto one of the side roads and get out of sight of anyone that Jackson would send to follow her.

But the gates started to slide shut.

Her heart went to her knees, and despite the danger from the trees, she hit the accelerator. She had to make it through them before they closed. If not, Jackson might have her arrested for trespassing.

Bailey took the last curve, the tires squealing in protest at the excessive speed, and for just a moment she lost sight of the gates. When she came out of the other side of the turn, her heart did more than drop.

The gates closed right in front of her.

Bailey slammed on the brakes. She smelled the rubber burning against the asphalt. Her body lurched forward, the seatbelt digging into her stomach and chest. And then there was the sound. Metal slamming into metal when the front of the van collided with the wrought iron.

The airbag deployed, smacking into her and pinning her against the seat. Bailey didn’t take the time to determine if she was hurt. She had to get out of there now. There was a footpath gate next to the wrought iron ones, and she might be able to leave that way.

She fought with the airbag and managed to shove it aside. Maybe because her hands were shaking, getting out of the seatbelt was no easy feat either. She finally got her fingers to cooperate and she disengaged the lock. Ready to run, Bailey threw open the door.

But she didn’t get far.

A rail-thin young Hispanic man came bursting through the shrubs and trees. She recognized him. He was with the estate gardening crew who had told them where to put some exterior lights.

He was dressed in work clothes, jeans and a dirt-splattered denim shirt, and with his breath gusting, he caught onto her arm. “Mr. Malone says you’re to come with me,” he told her. “A man just climbed over the security wall. An intruder.”

Oh, God. “Where is he?”

He started to run with her in tow. “He’s headed to the main house.”

Bailey didn’t know how she managed to hold on to her breath after hearing that. Was the intruder after the baby? Was that what Jackson’s threatening letter was all about? He was a very wealthy man, and someone might be attempting to kidnap the little boy for ransom.

She had to help keep the baby safe, even if he wasn’t hers. And even if it meant putting herself in danger.

Bailey didn’t ask where the man was taking her, but she did make sure he wasn’t armed. There was no visible weapon, and he wasn’t big or strong enough to be hired muscle. If she had to, and she might, she was fairly certain she could fight him off if he turned out to be someone who wasn’t concerned about the baby’s safety.

They cut through a garden on the east side of the property. The man didn’t stop running. Neither did Bailey, though the icy December air was knifing through her lungs and making it hard to breathe. She hadn’t put on a coat for her escape, and the chill was slowing her down.

She finally spotted the estate, but the man stopped next to some thick shrubs and checked around them before they ran the last hundred yards across the lawn to an east entrance. It was a sunroom decorated with plenty of lush green plants and pristine white furniture.

“Miss Hodges,” someone said the moment they entered.

Jackson Malone was standing there in the opening that divided the sunroom from the main house. Unlike when she’d seen him earlier in the foyer, he’d ditched his perfectly tailored midnight blue business coat and loosened his tie. His storm black hair was rumpled. His eyes were troubled.

And he had a gun pointed at her.

Bailey wanted to scream at herself. How could she have been so stupid? She’d bought the gardener’s story about an intruder, and in doing so, she’d come right back to the lion’s den.

Jackson looked at the gardener who’d rescued her. “Thank you, José. Now go back to your quarters and lock the door. I don’t want anyone out on the grounds until we know what we’re up against.”

The man gave a shaky nod, mumbled something in Spanish and hurried away, leaving Bailey alone with an armed man.

“I would have gone after you myself,” Jackson said, as a threat, “but I didn’t want to leave my son.” He motioned for Bailey to follow him.

She didn’t. Bailey stayed put. “Is there really an intruder?”

“There is.” His tone left no room for doubt. He held up the sleek, multifunction cell phone he had in his left hand, and on the tiny screen she saw what appeared to be video feed from security cameras. The man was dressed in camouflaged clothing and a ski mask.

And he was carrying an assault rifle.

“My advice?” Jackson added. “Bullets can go through glass, so if I were you I’d move.”

She glanced at the sunroom, three sides of which were indeed glass. Still, Bailey didn’t budge. Going inside could be just as dangerous as staying put. Jackson didn’t have his gun aimed at her exactly, but it was angled so that aiming it would take just a split second.

“Is this some kind of trick?” she asked. “Do you want me dead and out of the way?”

Jackson just stared at her. “Funny. I was about to ask you the same thing.”

Bailey shook her head. “The last thing I want is you dead.” And she meant it.

He stared her, those ice-gray eyes seemingly going right through her. “Get inside,” he ordered. “You might not value your life, but I’d prefer you stay alive so I can figure out who the hell you are.”

She debated it, but in the end she couldn’t dismiss the part about bullets going through glass. Yes, despite his comment that he preferred her alive, Jackson Malone might indeed have murder on his mind, but right now Bailey felt safer with him than she did with the ski-masked intruder. She only hoped she didn’t regret trusting her instincts. She certainly didn’t have a good track record in that department.

Bailey stepped out of the sunroom and into the main part of the house, and Jackson immediately closed the double doors and locked them. He pressed some numbers on a security system keypad, and then stepped in front of her to prevent her from going any farther.

“We’ll wait here,” he insisted.

Here was a casual living room with a butter-colored sofa. Floral chairs. A fireplace. There were toys in a basket on the hardwood floors.

That caused her breath to catch.

“Who’s the intruder?” Jackson asked her, checking the phone again.

Bailey pulled her attention from the toys and that phone so she could shake her head. “I don’t know, but maybe he came here to kidnap the baby.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you,” Jackson mumbled, making it sound like profanity. He shoved the gun into the back waist of his pants, crossed the room, pressed some buttons, and a bar opened from the wall. He poured himself a glass of something from a cut crystal decanter, tilted back his head and took the shot in one gulp.

“You have someone after the intruder?” she asked. “Someone who can stop him from getting inside?”

“I do. And my son has been taken to a panic room where no one can get to him. We’ve called the sheriff, and he’s on the way. Now, what does the intruder want?”

Because her legs felt shaky, Bailey stepped to the side so she could lean against the wall. “I don’t know.”

“Then guess,” he demanded. “And while you’re guessing, try to figure out how this intruder could be linked to you.”

“To me?”

“You,” he verified.

He walked back to her and got close. Probably to violate her personal space and make her feel uncomfortable.

It worked.

Everything about him, from his clothes to his scent, to the liquor on his breath, screamed expensive, but that look he was giving her was from a powerful man who knew how to play down-and-dirty.

An attractive man, she reluctantly admitted to herself.

That’s the first thing Bailey had noticed about him when she saw his photo in the newspapers. With his perfectly cut, but a little too-long hair, Jackson Malone looked like a bad boy rocker turned billionaire. He was drop-dead handsome, and despite the lousy circumstances and her personal feelings about him, her opinion about his looks didn’t change. He was the kind of man women noticed, and she apparently wasn’t exempt from that.

He glanced at her jeans pocket. “Why did you ask me about the two women in the photos?”

It was a simple question; and unlike many questions, Bailey actually knew the answer to this one, but she had to debate how much to tell him. She could just come clean about everything. That could cause him to gather up his soon-to-be adopted son and go deep into hiding, where he could keep the baby away from her.

Bailey wouldn’t blame him for that.

But she couldn’t risk Jackson leaving with the baby. She had to know the truth.

“Four months ago, when those men stormed into the hospital and took everyone hostage, I was in recovery. I’d just had a C-section.” Bailey had to take a deep breath. She didn’t remember much about that afternoon, and what she did remember wasn’t good. Just blips on her mental radar. “I didn’t know at the time, but the gunmen wanted to kill me.”

“Because they thought you could identify them,” he supplied. “I read about that.”

She nodded. She’d read all about it, too—after the fact. “Apparently, the two gunmen tried to break into the hospital lab the day before, and they thought I’d seen them without their masks. I might have,” she admitted.

“You don’t remember?” he questioned.

“No. I was there for some pre-op tests, and my mind was on the baby I was going to have. But they didn’t know that. They thought I was a threat. So they found out who I was and made a bogus call for me to come to the hospital for a bogus appointment. But I was already at the hospital because my labor started early.”

He checked the phone monitor again. “Why didn’t the gunmen just go into the recovery room after you?”

Bailey heard the question, but she had to know what was going on. Jackson kept looking at the phone, but he was giving her no clues as to what was happening. “Where’s the intruder?”

“Still at the rear of the property. My men are closing in on him. Now, back to the question. Why didn’t the gunmen go into recovery after you?”

“Because someone hid me, and my baby. I don’t know the person who did that, but I think it might be one of the two women in those photos. Both of them worked at the hospital at the time of the hostage incident.”

He made an impatient circling motion with his finger when she stopped. “Keep going.”

“The woman told me she had to take my son because the gunmen might hurt him.” Bailey had to pause again when she relived those last moments with her baby. “She took him and disappeared. I’ve been looking for him ever since, but I think someone doesn’t want me to find him. There have been three attempts on my life.”

Jackson made a sound of mild interest. “I read the gunmen are dead now, and the person who hired them is in prison.”

She nodded. “But I’m pretty sure someone has continued to follow me. I don’t know if it has anything to do with my missing son, or if it’s just someone who wants to do a news story. Some of the former hostages have been hounded by reporters.”

No sound of mild interest this time. He groaned, a deep rumbling in his throat, and cursed. “Still, someone tried to kill you, but you decided to come here anyway?”

“Those attempts on my life have nothing to do with this visit.” She couldn’t say it fast enough. “It’s been days, weeks even, since anyone has followed me. That’s why it was time for this visit. I thought I should come here today… .”

“Say it,” Jackson demanded when she stopped.

Bailey wasn’t sure she could. She’d searched for so long, and it was bittersweet to think she might be this close and still be so far away from having the life she’d planned.

“I thought if I could see the child you’re adopting,” she whispered, “that I would know if he was—well—mine.”

There it was. She’d just let him know that Caden James Malone could be the child who had been stolen from her.

And in Jackson’s mind that meant she was the enemy.

She’d read all about him. The ruthless business practices, the endless string of properties and businesses he’d acquired, often through hostile takeovers. His failed marriage in his early twenties to a woman who’d turned out to be a gold-digging opportunist. Rumors were, the sour relationship had embarrassed him and his family and had cost him millions. And it had also caused him to vow to stay single for the rest of his life.

Obviously, that vow hadn’t extended to fatherhood.

Bailey had poured over every article she could find, and it seemed as if, more than the money and his billion-dollar portfolio, the one thing Jackson Malone wanted most was children.

Now he had one.

And God knows what he would do to hang on to the baby.

“Do you have any proof?” he asked. There was pure skepticism in his tone.

“Some. I’ve researched all the adopted baby boys who were born in Texas on his birthday, and Caden is the only one I haven’t been able to exclude.”

He gave her a flat look. “Who says your son was adopted? He could have been taken to another state, or across the border. His adoption could have been illegal. Or maybe there was no adoption at all.”

Yes. And that possibility had caused her many sleepless nights. Not knowing what had happened was the worst.

“I have my son’s DNA,” she continued. “I got it from the umbilical cord that had been saved after his delivery. The police kept that quiet so no one in the media would report it. They wanted to be able to use it when and if they found a baby matching my son’s description. But the police also gave me a copy of those test results, and I was hoping you’d let me compare that DNA to the baby you’re about to adopt.”

His right eyebrow lifted, and he gave her a cold, hard stare to let her know that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

“It’s best for all of us if we know the truth,” Bailey said, still trying.

“Really?” he challenged. “Here’s what I do know.” But a sound cut off whatever he’d been about to say.

It was a loud bang.

A gunshot.

Jackson’s attention went straight to the phone, but he turned the screen so that she couldn’t see.

“Because you came here today, you might have endangered my son,” he continued, with his gaze fastened to the screen. “If what you’ve told me is true, someone could still be trying to kill you. So why the hell would you want to involve an innocent child in all of this?”

Her eyes burned, and Bailey tried to blink back the tears. She wasn’t quite successful. “Because I don’t think anyone is still trying to kill me. Besides, I had to know if he’s my son.”

“And then what?” Jackson snapped. He glared at her.

That was the hardest question of all, because she couldn’t just walk away until she’d learned the truth.

She swallowed hard. Even if Caden was indeed her son, Jackson Malone wasn’t just going to let her claim him. He no doubt approached fatherhood like he did his business, and that meant she was in another fight for her life.

“Caden’s adoption is legal,” Jackson concluded. “No one stole him from you. His birth mother is an unmarried college student from Austin who couldn’t raise him, so she contacted a private adoption agency after he was born.”

That was info that Bailey hadn’t been able to uncover. But it didn’t mean it was true. Maybe it was a story concocted by the woman who’d stolen Bailey’s newborn.

His phone buzzed, and Jackson glanced down at the screen. He pulled in a deep breath and used the device to make a call. “Well?” he said to the person who answered.

Since this was likely about the intruder, Bailey tried to listen, but she couldn’t hear the explanation that Jackson was getting. She held her breath, waiting.

“My men have the intruder,” Jackson relayed to her when he hung up.

Relief flooded through her. “He’s alive?”

“For the moment. He was wounded when he tried to run. That was the shot we heard.”

But he was still alive. Bailey went to Jackson and caught onto his arm. “Have your men question him. Find out why he was here. You’ll learn that he didn’t come here because of me. He’s probably a would-be kidnapper after the baby.”

“The sheriff just arrived,” Jackson said, not addressing anything she said. He stared at the grip she had on his arm, and didn’t continue until Bailey drew back her hand. “And here’s what I’m offering. You have two choices. You can leave now and look elsewhere for your missing baby. That includes you never attempting to contact me or my son again.”

Her relief over the intruder’s capture was short-lived. Bailey shook her head. “But don’t you want to know the truth?”

Jackson shrugged. “I already know the truth, and Caden is not yours. He’s mine. Leave now, and someone on my staff will drive you back to San Antonio.”

She couldn’t leave. She might be just a room away from her baby.

“And if I refuse to leave?” Bailey challenged.

Another shrug. “Simple. The sheriff will arrest you for trespassing and take you to jail. Your choice, Miss Hodges. Which will it be?”