Читать книгу Dylan and the Baby Doctor - Sherryl Woods - Страница 7

Dylan Delacourt knew perfectly well why he’d been spending so much time visiting his baby sister lately. Oh, he claimed that he was just checking up on her for the rest of the family. He said he liked helping his new brother-in-law work on the house Hardy had built for Trish. But the truth was, he was in Los Pin˜os because of his niece.

Baby Laura had stolen his heart. On his worst days, when he was so low everything looked black, Laura’s smile was like sunshine. Seeing it was a bittersweet sensation, though. It reminded him just a little too much of another baby, another sweet smile.

The last time he’d held his son, Shane had been just about Laura’s age, thirteen months. He’d just begun to toddle around on unsteady legs. He’d uttered his first word, Mama, and that had pretty much been the moment when Dylan had concluded that Shane belonged with Kit and her new husband full-time.

Saying goodbye to his boy, doing what was best for him and letting him grow up with a “father,” rather than a stepfather, had almost killed Dylan. He’d agonized over it for months, hated Kit for divorcing him and forcing him into making such an untenable decision.

But he had also known just how deep the bitterness between him and Kit ran, recognized that no matter how hard they tried, there would never be agreement or peace or cooperation between them. In the end, he hadn’t been willing to subject his son to the inevitable battles, the simmering resentments. Giving up Shane was probably the single most unselfish act of his life. And not a day went by that he didn’t regret it.

His own grief and pain had been lessened somewhat by the knowledge that Kit’s new husband was a kind, decent man, who already had two boys of his own. Steve Davis kept regular hours, not the erratic, unpredictable schedule of a private eye. He would give Shane the time, the love and the whole family that the boy deserved.

Dylan tried never to look back, but there were too many days and twice as many nights when that was impossible. It had been more than four years now and he still ached for his boy. He wondered how tall he was, if he still had the same cowlick in his hair, if he was athletic, if he remembered his real daddy at all. That’s when the regrets would start to add up and he’d turn up in Los Pin˜os, his mood bleak, his soul weary.

Trish intuitively understood what brought him there and over time, Dylan had revealed some of it to Hardy. He withstood their pitying looks, accepted their love and their concern. But with little Laura, there was only the sunshine of her brilliant smile and the joy of her laughter. He could be a hero, instead of the dad who’d walked away.

“Unca Dyl,” she squealed when she saw him climb out of his rugged sports utility vehicle on a dreary Friday night. Arms outstretched, she pumped her little legs so fast, she almost tripped over her own feet trying to get to him.

Dylan scooped her up and into the air above his head until she chortled with glee. He brought her down to peer into her laughing blue eyes that were so like her mama’s. He’d been nine when Trish was born and he could still remember the way she, too, had looked up at him as if he were ten feet tall.

“Munchkin, I think you’re destined to be a pilot or an astronaut,” he declared. “You have absolutely no fear of heights.”

Laura giggled and gestured until he lifted her high again, then swung her low in a stomach-sinking dip.

“Still making career choices for her, I see,” Trish said, stepping off the porch to join them. “For a man who refused to let anyone tell him what he should grow up to be, you seem intent on controlling your niece’s destiny.”

“Not controlling it,” Dylan insisted. “Just listing a few of her options.” He dropped a kiss on his sister’s cheek. “Thanks for letting me come.”

Instantly, sympathy filled her eyes. “I know it’s a tough weekend. Shane will be six tomorrow, right?”

Dylan nodded. “I don’t want to talk about it, though.”

Trish sighed. “You never do. Dylan, don’t you think—”

“I’m not going to get in touch with him,” he said fiercely. “I made a deal with Kit and Steve. I intend to stick to it. If the time ever comes when Shane wants to know me, she’ll help him find me. Until then, I have to forget about him.”

“I don’t know how you can live with that,” she whispered, touching his cheek. “I know you think it was the right thing to do, but—”

“It was the only thing to do. Now can we drop it, please? I could have stayed home and listened to Mother, if I’d wanted to go over this again. Goodness knows, she never lets me forget how I’d deprived her of getting to know her first grandchild.”

Trish looked as if she might argue, then sighed. “Done. I hope you’re hungry, though. Hardy’s out back making hamburgers on the grill. It’s his night to cook and if it can’t be done on a grill, we don’t eat.”

Over the weekend, Dylan fell into the easy rhythms of his sister’s family, grateful to be able to push the memories away for a few days at least. When Sunday rolled around, he still wasn’t ready to go back to Houston and face real life. None of the cases on his desk were challenging. Just routine skip-traces, a straying husband, an amateur attempt at insurance fraud. He could wrap any one of them up in less than a day, which was one of the reasons he’d been so desperate to get away. Tackling them wouldn’t have crowded out his misery.

“Stay one more night,” Trish begged.

He figured she’d sensed his reluctance to go. His baby sister had always been able to read him like a book, better than any of the younger brothers who’d come between them. Fiercely loyal and kindhearted, the male Delacourts taunted each other and banded together against the outside world. But as tight-knit as they were, none of his brothers dared to bulldoze through his defenses the way Trish did.

“Yeah,” Hardy agreed, picking up on some unspoken signal from his wife. “Stick around. You can get the tile up in the second bathroom. Trish says I don’t have the patience to do it right.”

“And I do?” Dylan said, amused by their ploy to make him feel that his continued presence wasn’t an intrusion. Crediting him with more patience than anyone was a real stretch.

“Trust me,” Trish said. “You’re bound to have more than my husband. He keeps getting distracted.”

Hardy grinned. “Because I happen to have a very sexy new wife.”

Sometimes witnessing their happiness was more painful than going back to his lonely existence in Houston, but tonight there was no contest. Anything was better than going home.

Dylan held up his hands. “Okay, okay, no details, please. You two may be married, but she’s still my baby sister. I’ll stay.”

“Good,” Trish said, beaming, clearly pleased with herself.

That night, just as they were finishing supper, the phone rang. Because he was closest, Dylan grabbed it.

“Oh, Dylan, is that you?” a vaguely familiar voice demanded.

Dylan tensed, alerted by the tone to trouble. “Yes. Who is this?”

“It’s Lizzy. Lizzy Adams. I’m the doctor who treated Trish after Laura was born. We met at Trish’s wedding.”

He recalled a slender, dark-haired woman who’d radiated confidence. She didn’t sound so sure of herself now. “Of course. You want to talk to Trish. She’s right here.”

“No, no. It’s you I need to speak to.”

“Oh?”

“You’re a private detective, right?”

“Yes.” He slid into professional mode, finally grasping that what he was hearing in her voice was a thread of panic she was trying hard to hide. “What’s going on?”

“My friend, the doctor who works with me at the clinic, Kelsey James…have you met her?”

Although he’d met dozens of people at the wedding and on subsequent visits, no image came to mind. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, it’s about her little boy, Bobby. Something’s happened.”

Dylan’s heart began to thud dully. Something told him he didn’t want to know the rest, but he forced himself to ask anyway. “What about him?”

“He’s disappeared. She thinks he’s been kidnapped. Can you come, Dylan? Can you come right away?”

“Just tell me where,” he said grimly, beckoning for paper and pencil. As soon as he had them, he jotted down the directions. “Have you talked to the police?”

“Justin’s here now,” she said, referring to her nephew who also happened to be the local sheriff. “He needs help, though. Kelsey wants this kept quiet. She won’t let him call in the FBI or anyone else from outside.”

The knee-jerk reaction of a panicked parent—or something more? “Why?” he asked.

“Let her explain. Just come. Please.”

“I’m on my way.”

“What?” Trish demanded, already standing as he reached for his jacket. “Why did Lizzy call you? What’s happened?”

“It’s about somebody named Kelsey. Her little boy’s disappeared.”

“Oh, no,” Trish whispered, suddenly glancing at Laura as if to reassure herself that her daughter was right where she belonged. She regarded him worriedly. “Dylan, I don’t know about this. Are you sure this is something you should get involved in? I know you’re the best and I adore Kelsey and Bobby, but won’t this be too hard?”

“I can’t just turn my back,” he said, wondering what the look Trish exchanged with Hardy was all about. “You obviously know this Kelsey person. Is there something more that I should know?”

“No,” Trish insisted.

She said it without looking at him, which sure as anything meant she was covering up something. Trish had never been able to lie worth a hoot.

“Trish?”

“Just go.”

He thought Hardy looked every bit as guilty as his sister, but he didn’t have time to try to find out what they were hiding. If he didn’t like the answers he got from Kelsey James, he’d come back here for the missing pieces.

“I’ll try to call,” he said, “but don’t wait up for me.”

“If you need people for a search, call me,” Hardy said. “I can get all the men from White Pines to help out.”

“Thanks. Let’s see what’s going on first.”

If he had been anyplace other than Los Pin˜os, Dylan would have called one of his buddies to take over right this second, because Trish was right—searching for missing kids tore him up inside. But there weren’t a lot of private detectives nearby and time was critical in a situation like this. He had no choice. All he could do was pray that this disappearance would have a happy ending.

Kelsey felt as if someone had ripped out her heart. Anyone who’d been through med school and worked in an emergency room was used to terrible stress and was able to think clearly in a crisis. Despite all that training, though, she hadn’t been able to form a coherent thought since the moment when she’d realized that Bobby was no longer playing in the backyard where she’d left him.

She had simply stood staring blankly at the open gate, frozen, until adrenaline kicked in. Then she had raced to the street, pounded frantically on doors, trailed by bewildered, helpful neighbors as she’d searched futilely for her son. Although plenty of people were outside on such a sunny summer day, no one had seen him leave the yard. No one had seen him toddling down the street. A child Bobby’s age, alone, would have drawn attention.

She had no idea how long it had been—minutes, an hour—before she concluded that Bobby hadn’t simply wandered away. By then both Justin and Lizzy had arrived, alerted by the neighbors. Justin had taken charge automatically, asking crisp, concise questions, organizing a search and leaving Lizzy to sit with her and try to keep her calm, when she wanted to be out searching herself.

With neighbors crowded around wanting to help, talking in hushed voices, Kelsey didn’t feel calm, not after three cups of chamomile tea, not after the mild tranquilizer her friend had insisted she take. She wasn’t sure she would ever be calm again, not until she had her baby back in her arms. This was her worst nightmare coming true. It didn’t matter that no one had seen a stranger on the street. She knew what had happened. She knew who had taken Bobby. And why.

“It’s Paul,” she whispered finally, forcing herself to say aloud what had been tormenting her from the moment she’d realized Bobby was gone. “He’s taken him. I know he has.”

“You’re probably right,” Lizzy said, her tone soothing, as if she still feared that Kelsey would shatter at any second. “And I know you hate the man’s guts, but isn’t that better than a stranger? Paul won’t hurt Bobby. Despite what a louse I think he is, I know he loved Bobby. He just wants money or drugs and Bobby’s his bargaining chip. I think you can count on him being in touch. He’s not going to run with him. He’ll bring Bobby back the minute he gets what he wants.”

“If he’s desperate, who knows what he’ll do?” Kelsey countered, shuddering.

This wasn’t the old Paul, the one she’d fallen in love with. That Paul had been brilliant and driven and passionate. He had loved her in a way she’d never expected to be loved, charming her, convincing her in the end that he couldn’t live without her, that they shouldn’t wait till she finished med school or her residency to marry. It was ironic, really, that she’d struggled with the thought of marrying, just as Lizzy had, had finally rationalized that if Lizzy and Hank could juggle everything and make it work, so could she and Paul.

She couldn’t exactly pinpoint when Paul had changed. Maybe he hadn’t, not really. Maybe the drive she’d so admired in him at first had always been an obsessive need to win, to get what he wanted when he wanted it. He’d gotten her. He’d gotten the perfect job at the right brokerage house, then slaved to be the top broker, the quickest to earn a promotion. He’d convinced her to have a baby, even when she’d been so sure it was too soon, that their schedules were too demanding.

“We have the money. We can afford help,” he’d reasoned. “I want a family, while we’re still young.”

Now, always now. But she had gone along, because he had wanted it so much and she had wanted to please him. When Bobby came, every doubt she had had vanished. He was perfect. Paul was ecstatic and more driven than ever. Their son was going to have the best of everything.

“We have enough,” she had told him more than once. But it was never enough for Paul, not for a kid whose family had struggled while he was growing up. He told her again and again that he knew the real meaning of adversity and he was determined that his wife and son would never catch so much as a glimpse of it. “Not as long as I’m able to bring in the big bucks just by putting in some long hours.”

Then he had taken a nasty spill on a ski trip and fractured his wrist. It should have been little more than a minor inconvenience, but she knew now that that was when his addiction began. He’d taken the painkillers so he wouldn’t have to slow down for so much as a second. He hadn’t wanted to miss making a single commission. He’d never stopped.

She had cursed herself a thousand times for not realizing he was hooked. She was a doctor, for heaven’s sake. She should have caught the signs, but she was too busy herself. In her own way, she was every bit as much of an overachiever as Paul.

Then there was a traffic accident. Paul’s injuries were minor, the other driver’s only slightly worse, but the routine bloodwork the police insisted on had revealed a high level of painkillers in his system. Confronted, he’d promised to stop taking them.

Shaken to the core, Kelsey had searched the house, found every last pill herself and flushed them all down the toilet. She had warned Paul to get help or lose her. She had wanted desperately to believe that he loved her and Bobby enough to quit.

A month later, she’d realized that her prescription pad was missing. Suspicious, she had made calls to half a dozen pharmacies, verified that her husband had gotten pills at every one of them and at who knew how many more. He had forged her signature on every prescription.

She had seen a lawyer that same day and had the divorce and custody papers drawn up. It was a drastic course of action, but she hadn’t known what else to do. She had prayed that maybe the sight of the divorce papers would shock him into getting help. It hadn’t. He’d simply taken more pills and blamed her for backing him into a corner.

She had known then that she couldn’t let him ruin their lives, destroy her reputation. That night she had made a shaken and contrite Paul sign the papers. A week later, she’d moved to Texas, praying that he really would get the help he needed.

Now this. God help her, but she would kill him if he did anything to hurt her baby.

“We have to find him,” she whispered.

“Which is why I called Dylan,” Lizzy soothed. “He’ll find him. Trish says he’s the best private eye in Houston. Unlike Justin, he’s probably handled cases like this a zillion times. He’ll be fast and discreet.”

“Where is he?” Kelsey whispered, her desperation mounting with every second that passed. Unless he’d spent it all on pills, Paul had plenty of money, enough to run to the ends of the earth. She might never find him or her baby.

“Shouldn’t he be here by now?” she asked, edgy with impatience and ever-growing fear.

Lizzy glanced toward the doorway just then and smiled. “Here he is right now.” She stood up, offering her seat opposite Kelsey at the kitchen table. “Dylan, this is Bobby’s mom, Kelsey James. Doctor Kelsey James.”

Kelsey felt her ice-cold hand being enveloped in a strong, reassuring grip. His size registered, too. He was a big man. Solid, with coal-black hair and a grim expression. She focused on his eyes, blue eyes that were clearly taking in everything. She had the feeling that his gaze missed nothing, that he could leave the room and describe every person, every item in it. At the same time there was a distance there, a cool detachment. Funny how she found that reassuring. He was a professional, she reminded herself, just what she needed. The best. He would find Bobby and bring him back. That was all that mattered.

“Tell me what happened,” he suggested in a voice that was surprisingly gentle. He sounded almost as if he truly understood her pain. “Tell me exactly what you did, beginning with the moment you realized your boy was gone. Where was he? How long had he been out of your sight?”

“I’ve already told Justin everything,” she said, not sure she could handle going over it again. It seemed surreal, as if she hadn’t lived through it at all.

“Tell me,” he said insistently. “I might catch something that Justin missed. Or you might remember something else. Every little detail is important.”

He listened intently as Kelsey described everything that had happened, but when she mentioned Paul, something in his attentive expression changed. That disturbing coolness she’d noticed before subtly shifted into what she could only describe as icy disdain. He gazed at her with such piercing intensity that she shivered.

“You have full custody of your son?” he asked, as if it were some sort of crime.

She nodded, unsure why that seemed to unsettle him so.

“When was the last time the father saw him?” he asked, an inexplicable edge in his voice.

“Before we left Miami, about ten months ago. That was our agreement,” she said, not explaining about the other part of that agreement, about her promise not to turn Paul in to the authorities. No one except Lizzy knew about that and no one ever would.

“You believe this was an abduction by a noncustodial parent,” he said, summing up what she’d told him.

“I’m sure of it.”

“Has he threatened to take Bobby before?”

“No, but—”

“Then why are you so certain?”

“I just am. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Bobby wouldn’t go off with a stranger, not without raising a fuss. Besides, I don’t have enemies. I don’t make a lot of money, so a demand for ransom’s hardly likely. If someone wanted money in this town, they’d take an Adams.”

He nodded. He might be an outsider here, just as she was, but he obviously knew who had the power and the fortune.

“You haven’t treated any kids who didn’t make it, whose parents might blame you?” he asked.

“No. Not since Miami.” There had been a few inconsolable parents back then who’d wanted to cast blame on someone, anyone, and she’d been the easiest target. “People who lose a child aren’t always thinking clearly, but there were no malpractice suits. I doubt any of them would pursue me to Texas.”

“Okay, then, let’s assume it’s your ex. Have you got a picture of him? And I’ll need one of Bobby, too. The most recent one you have.”

Relief flooded through her at his concrete suggestions. At last, something she could do. She went for the photo albums she kept in the living room, took out the most recent picture of Paul, then another of Bobby from his birthday party just a few weeks earlier. Ironically, the latest one she had of Paul had been taken on that ill-fated ski trip that had started his downward spiral.

“You’re going to help?” she asked as she handed the pictures to Dylan.

The question had been rhetorical, but for a moment she actually thought he might refuse. His expression was grim. He looked as if he wanted to say no. In fact, the word seemed to be on the tip of his tongue, but with Lizzy and others looking on expectantly, he finally sighed heavily.

“I’ll help,” he said at last.

After he’d gone, Kelsey kept telling herself that was a good thing, that she could count on this man, because Lizzy had said she could. But in her heart she kept wondering about that tiny hint of reluctance. It had something to do with her custody agreement with Paul. She was sure of it. Until she had mentioned that, Dylan Delacourt had been on her side. Now she couldn’t help wondering if he was really on hers…or on Paul’s.