The Deadly Series Boxed Set

by Jaycee Clark

  She shrugged. “I really don’t know. I was answering some fed’s questions for the third time and some cop came in and pulled him to the side. They gave me a look and then lit out of my room, cubicle, whatever.”

  “You didn’t scare them away? Threaten them?” he asked her, trying to cheer her up, she knew.

  She shook her head. “Hard as it is to believe, I simply kept asking after you. I did hear some lady yelling that she wanted to know what was happening with her little girl, but other than that, it was quiet. Aside from all the hoopla our entourage caused.”

  “We’re Kinncaids. We like to give our entourages things to do.”

  This time she snickered.

  “Finally, a smile and a chuckle. I miss your laugh, El. I’ve heard it in my head for months, sharing different moments with me.”

  “They have meds for that.”

  “Don’t need ’em. Got you, don’t I?” He sighed and kissed the top of her head.

  “I want her back, Quin. I want it all to just . . . just . . . stop. I want it all to just stop.”

  “I know.”

  “And I want us to be able to just go home, wherever that is.”

  “New Orleans,” he said without thought.

  She pulled out of his arms and looked at him, saw he wasn’t joking. “New Orleans? Not D.C.?”

  “You’re happy in New Orleans. I honestly could never really envision you sitting pretty in the hotel or just touring the museums. Granted, you could always start another studio and I guess you could help out at the shelters in the D.C. area. I do, but I still never could see you there.”

  She just looked at him, waiting to see what he meant. If he really meant it. Not that she wouldn’t move. “I’ll live wherever you want. I’ve spent the last few months alone and I know that no place, no job, no stupid fears are nearly as important as you, as our daughter, as our family.”

  He looked over her face, touched the tip of her nose. “That all may be true, but—”

  “May be true?” She stood beside his bed, bumping into the tray where supplies were still scattered.

  “All right, that all is true, but honestly, I fell in love with a girl in the Quarter. Life is just . . . different there and that’s where I want to live.” He frowned. “For now at least. When the kids get in school, maybe we will revisit moving, but for now I like the Quarter better than my penthouse in D.C. or an old brownstone or whatever. Real estate in the capital is insane.”

  She huffed and leaned back against the wall. “I miss my house. I don’t know what in the hell I was thinking to move, let alone sell it.”

  His eyes, green as emeralds, glittered at her. “You, my darling wife, were running scared.”

  “Yeah, and then I moved and tried to convince myself that I loved New Mexico and the artistry of Taos and my new job. When in fact I missed you, I missed looking forward to you showing up on my stoop on Thursdays or Fridays with some little stupid gift of fattening beignets or a crystal from the voodoo shop or some something. I missed you in the mornings and the way the sun would stream through the little window and shine in your hair.” She reached over and ruffled the russet locks. “Or seeing you flustered in raggedy jeans with paint splattered everywhere. I missed talking to you and hearing you and I just missed . . . us. I missed us, and that was before I even learned I was pregnant, and then it all just went down a damned rabbit hole.”

  He opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again, still keeping his eyes on her. She swallowed. So serious. No grin, no . . . concern she’d become accustomed to seeing in his eyes. A muscle bunched in his jaw. He took a deep breath. “We have so much to make up for, you and I and . . . our little girl. She needs a name.” He rubbed a hand, his free hand, over his face. “I don’t like calling her ‘little girl.’ What did you name her?”

  She sighed and looked up at him. “I didn’t, actually. I mean, I thought of her as mine, but honestly, I couldn’t pick a name until I had talked to you. I knew your mother’s name was Kaitlyn, so a few times I called her Kaitie, but . . .” She shook her head. “I wanted to do something with you. My stupid need to help cost us too much, cost you precious little moments that we can never get back. God, what if we don’t . . . what if I can’t . . . what if no one ever knows . . .” She stopped, not wanting to go on.

  He said, “I’ll admit, I’m still a little mad I missed out on all the stuff, the heartbeat, the first time she moved, or feeling her kick against my hand as we were curled up on the couch or something. But in the whole scheme of things, Ella, that’s not what’s important.” He stood and placed his hands on her shoulders. “There are many men who know about their wives’ pregnancies and don’t get to experience that. Maybe their job sent them overseas. Maybe they are deployed. Maybe they were just stupid asshats and walked away. But they all make it work. We’ll make it work, and we will find her. Okay, unless we come up with something else, I’m going to start calling her Kaitie because I can’t stand the thought she doesn’t have a name.”

  She didn’t have the heart to tell him that the little girl probably did have a name, that someone else had named her and . . .

  “A name, Ella. Come on.”

  “I was thinking . . . I don’t know. Hope, maybe. I thought of it last night,” she admitted, looking down. Hope. Hope.

  “I like Faith, actually, I think. We are going to have faith we’ll get her back, so Faith fits her, doesn’t it? Or Grace.”

  “Quinlan, I know you say to have faith, but she was early. She was early and early babies often have issues. What if she does and they don’t know, what if . . .”

  “What if whoever adopted her is a wonderful family and they take care of her until we can get her back?”

  “Like they’ll want to give her back to us?”

  He shoved a hand through his hair. “I feel bad for them, I do, but she’s ours. She’s a Kinncaid, and if it takes the rest of my fucking life I’m going to find my daughter and bring her home where she belongs.”

  “I’m not arguing with you, but I also know that there are going to be issues to deal with.”

  “Like what? Whoever adopted her, it wasn’t a legal adoption so there isn’t going to be a legal battle. The only thing we may have to do is to run a DNA test to verify she’s ours.”

  “That’s it? That’s all?” Relief slid through her. “You’re sure? I’ve been worried we’d find her and whoever had her wouldn’t give her back, or she’d be in foster care until the courts ruled or . . . That’s all?”

  “I talked to Brody, to the feds, to a judge here and that’s all, Ella.”

  Quinlan looked at the woman standing against the wall. So pale. He hated her pale. She’d actually had some color back in her cheeks earlier before the entire mess. Now her face was as pale as it had been in the hospital. He didn’t like it.

  “When this is all over, I’m taking my girls someplace, so figure out where you want that to be.”

  “Home. I just want to go home, wherever that is with you.” Tears trembled in her eyes. “I never cried before I was pregnant and I haven’t stopped since I read all those pink lines and the word ‘pregnant.’ I swear pregnancy hormones are for the birds.”

  He chuckled and wiped a tear away. “But it’s kind of adorable.”

  She shoved at him, but then stopped and ran her finger over his bandage. “Sorry. Forgot for a minute. I love you. I’m hanging on by a very small thread.”

  “It’s okay, I’ll catch you. Besides, you would have just found another way to keep going. As you said, I let you settle, let you breathe, and I always will, Ella, because the God’s honest truth is that you are my life. I don’t like my life without you in it. I’ve tried that for months and I don’t like the person I am without you. That doesn’t mean that I’m going to sit back and allow you to be hurt, not ever again. You’re stuck with me,” he said, leaning down into her space, noting the way her eyes widened just a bit. “You are mine, Mrs. Kinncaid. We tried things your way, now we do them min
e.”

  She smiled, stood on her toes and kissed him quickly on the mouth. “I really should have more of an issue when you get all . . . domineering, but . . .”

  “But?” he asked, kissing her lightly back.

  “But I don’t. Or I’m just too tired to care.” Her eyes widened and twinkled. “Hormones. Has to be the damned hormones.”

  He opened his mouth to say he’d show her the effects of damned hormones, but he didn’t. He decided he’d just show her when the time was right.

  Running footsteps sounding down the corridor had him moving slightly in front of her just as Ian burst into the room.

  “We need to head over to the children’s hospital,” Ian told them, his jaw tight, his eyes bright. “Now.”

  Ian tossed him a jacket, which he caught and tried to pull on over the bandage.

  “You found her?” Ella whispered. “Did you find her?”

  • • •

  Vincent sat holding his wife’s hand. Cops surrounded them, along with federal agents and his own bodyguard.

  As soon as they’d brought the baby in downstairs and he saw the nurses whispering, looking at him and then asking him and his wife again for the adoption papers, he knew. He knew it was only a matter of time.

  His wife sat shaking her head. “She’s ours. We adopted her from a reputable agency.”

  The federal agent . . . what the hell was his name? Landry nodded. “I understand you believed that, ma’am. But by your adoption papers—”

  “The adoption was a closed adoption,” DeSaro said.

  “Yes, but this child fits the description of a missing baby who was not legally available for adoption. The mother did not want to give her up, the father never signed the papers. If there are papers stating otherwise, the papers were forged. Thus the adoption isn’t legal.”

  “There is more, isn’t there?” DeSaro asked.

  Agent Landry just looked at him. “Mr. DeSaro, we found records of the adoptions by the agency you used, not all are legal. Yours is one of those. The records indicate this baby, the child you adopted, is in fact the legal child of someone else. Someone who has been moving heaven and earth to find her.”

  She jerked her hand from his and stood. “That baby is mine! Her parents weren’t married, they didn’t want her and—”

  “With all due respect, Mrs. DeSaro, that isn’t true. The baby’s mother and father are very much married. The baby was forcibly taken from the mother, and honestly, both mother and daughter are damned lucky to be alive. I’m sorry for you and Mr. DeSaro, but the facts are facts.”

  “The papers said . . . the papers . . . they told us . . .” She turned watery eyes to him and Vincent could only shake his head. He stood and pulled her into his arms.

  Looking at the federal agent, he said, “How do you know the adoption isn’t legal?”

  “First off, our techs have cracked encrypted documents, you are not the only couple this happened to—given a child that was not up for adoption. However, you are the first we . . . that is to say, with this case being what it is, everyone is looking for this little girl.”

  He knew, he already knew. Names could be forged and who would know the difference?

  “We know, Mr. DeSaro. I apologize. But the family of this baby has been working with us to locate her. The parents never even considered adoption. They never signed the papers.”

  “But there are signatures, there have to be on the papers,” his wife said, sniffling. “It was a closed adoption but they have to have signed something. Little Sophia is ours!”

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t care. I don’t care. She’s mine.” Her hands gripped his arm, her nails digging in. “Vincent, she’s ours. Tell them! They can’t just take her away, they can’t.” Her eyes, so blue, so watery and shiny, begged him.

  He closed his own and kissed her forehead. If both he and his wife didn’t end up in a pile of legal tape and charges, they’d be damned lucky. Or jail. Quarter of a million. All they had to do was trace the money, but maybe . . .

  He took a deep breath. He wanted that little girl as badly as his wife did, but he’d be damned if he would spend time in prison, nor would his wife, for someone else’s fuckup.

  Clearing his throat, he said, “We met with them, the agency. . . they said . . . We paid for prenatal care. The best there was,” he told them. “The Nursery came highly recommended and we paid for the best care for the mother and our child,” he told them. “Was it all a lie? They just took our money and stole some poor woman’s child to give to us?” He’d have to call his lawyer back. The man had flown out two days ago for another client.

  Anger churned hot and thick in his gut, tightening into a cold ball as the elevators at the end of the NICU dinged. He glanced over and saw Kinncaids emerge.

  It was over then. They’d lost. He knew it was all too good to be true. And could he fight it?

  Not if the adoption wasn’t even legal to begin with. He knew that. No matter the state, and he’d checked when they’d started this mess. New Mexico had to have both birth parents agree to the adoption. Not just the mother. And chances were DNA would confirm Sophia was a Kinncaid. He’d like to know what files they’d found, what all had happened.

  There was no way a Kinncaid would give up one of theirs. No more than he would. He knew it.

  His wife sobbed in his arms. “She’s mine. She’s my baby. The mother gave her away. She just . . .”

  “No, no, I didn’t. They took her. They just took her and no one is taking my child from me ever again,” a woman with one of the Kinncaids stated fiercely.

  Chapter 37

  Quin stopped beside Ella and saw the man standing there. An older gentleman, not quite his father’s age. A man he actually knew.

  “Mr. DeSaro,” he said, offering his hand.

  For a moment, the man looked like he wanted to hit him, but then he took a deep breath and held out his hand. “Mr. Kinncaid.”

  “I want to see her. I have to see her. Now.” Ella pulled her hand from his before he could grab her.

  “Ella, wait.”

  “No. I want to see my daughter now.”

  Landry stepped up to her. “You will. But first there are some things you should know. She’s sick, you’ll have to ask the doctors for the particulars.”

  She whirled on the DeSaros.

  “No,” Landry said, grabbing her arm. “Listen to me, Mrs. Kinncaid. These people, they didn’t do anything to her. You, and she, were very, very lucky. They believed the adoption was legal. They’ve only taken the very best care of your daughter. When she was sick, they brought her in. Luckily she was still in the area, Ella, or this reunion might have been much longer in coming.”

  She opened her mouth, closed it. Then opened it again. Finally she swallowed. “I. Want. To. See. Her.”

  Quin stepped up beside her. “We. We will see our daughter. Now.”

  Landry stepped closer to them. “You’d be wise to get your lawyer or brother to do a DNA test with the docs here and make sure the chain of evidence isn’t compromised. I can put a rush on it with a local lab we use sometimes. We’d have the results sooner.”

  “We’ve already—”

  “Just a precaution.”

  He nodded. “Fine. Whatever. How sure are you this is our daughter?” He glanced at Ella, who was looking toward the doors at the end of the hallway. “I can’t have her broken again because this turns out not to be our daughter.”

  “Red hair and the birthmark matches. Blood type matches. Plus the tech called when you were shot, he’d cracked the encryption and the records show that the DeSaros adopted your wife’s baby. Lisa kept a lot of records. We’re going to be very busy for the foreseeable future.”

  He didn’t care about that right now. He sighed. “So it’s really her? Really our daughter?”

  Landry smiled and slapped him on the shoulder. “Yes, Mr. Kinncaid. DNA is just a precaution, but yes.”

  A doctor stood t
o the side and nodded. “That’s fine. Parents only.”

  He and Ella followed the doctor. Quinlan tried to ignore the other woman’s cries and moans. “She’s ours! Sophia is ours! Tell them, Vincent. Tell them!”

  He stopped and turned back to them. This man he’d done business with previously. He’d always respected him and he’d never in a million years thought they would be standing where they were today.

  “I’m sorry,” he told the other couple. “I’m really sorry.”

  He turned and hurried after his wife and the doctor. He was going to see his daughter.

  His daughter . . .

  In one room, they stopped and followed the directions the doctor gave them about washing and scrubbing before putting on scrubs to enter the neonatal unit.

  He could hear the doctor talking to them, telling them about tubes hooked up to their daughter, but it all faded. Something about respiratory distress due to her lungs not fully developing and an infection.

  Ella’s movements were quick, precise. When they were dressed he took her hand in his again and realized his were shaking.

  As they walked through the door, the first thing he noticed were the machines. So many machines, quietly beeping, softly hissing. Little mewls and cries could be heard, but not many.

  Which one was she?

  He took a deep breath and another.

  The doctor led them over to one Isolette where a baby lay on her back, an oxygen tube strapped to her little head, EKG patches attached to her chest and an IV in her arm.

  Red hair. She had red hair and she was so pale, even as her fat little cheeks were flushed pink. Her little mouth was open as she panted.

  “Oh my God. She’s so little,” he whispered. She was his.

  Mine. She’s mine.

  Ella put her hands on the outside of the plastic. “Hey, sweet girl. Momma’s here. I’m right here. I found you. I found you.” She started to cry then, silent tears streaming down her face. “By the grace of God,” she whispered. “We found you.”

  He bit down and swallowed, tried to rein in his emotions. His hands shook so badly, he took them from her shoulders and tried to shove them into his pocket, but the scrub gown didn’t have pockets. Instead he fisted his hands and crossed his arms for a moment. He just needed a moment. He tried to swallow past the lump in his throat, but it didn’t do any good. Looking back, all he could think was, She’s so tiny. So little to be sick.