by Rita Herron
Too? He jerked in shock at his own thought, nearly ripping the IV from his arm.
She soothed him with tender fingers, running them across his chest, and he silently cursed for enjoying the sensation so much that he almost begged her not to stop.
“Let me talk to the doctor first, then I’ll see what I can do about getting you to a phone.”
He nodded and watched her leave the recovery room, a piece of his heart going with her.
ALANNA ASKED the nurse to page Cain’s doctor, then stepped into the privacy of the waiting room, trying to avoid eye contact with as many of the staff as possible in case someone recognized her. The portable TV blared from the corner, the niterating the story about Polenta’s missing baby, flashing her old photo. Then a special series featuring several scientific research projects aired, one centering around a child who’d surgically received a heart valve from an animal. The poor little girl had borne the brunt of brutal jokes by classmates and the tabloids, reinforcing Alanna’s reasons for wanting to keep the research around Simon confidential.
Cain’s comment about every second counting ticked through her mind like a time bomb—did he think the doctors might be taking Simon someplace far away? If they would kill her to get him, what else would they do to cover up his existence?
The thought sent a shudder through her.
Footsteps clicked on the faded linoleum of the hospital corridor. She looked up expecting to see the doctor. Instead, an auburn-haired woman she guessed to be in her mid-thirties stepped inside the small room, buttoning a taupe suit jacket around a pudgy midriff. Dark green eyes slid over Alanna, the thin-lipped smile mirroring the animosity in the woman’s expression. Alanna moved to the rear of the room and flipped off the TV set, figuring the woman had come to visit an ill friend or relative. But she strode straight toward Alanna, throwing back her shoulders as if to intimidate her. “Miss Hayes, we need to talk.”
Panic zinged through Alanna. She tried to scoot around the woman, but a hand much stronger than it looked reached out to dig pink fingernails into Alanna’s arm.
Alanna’s gaze swung to the woman’s as she silently struggled for a handle on the situation. She certainly didn’t want to bring attention to herself.
“What do you want?” Alanna asked.
“To talk to you about Dr. Polenta.”
The blood froze in her veins. “What?”
“Let’s sit down. I don’t want anyone to hear us and I know you don’t.”
Weak with worry and shock that the woman knew her identity, Alanna sank into the nearest vinyl chair, the sharp edge digging into the backs of her knees. “Who are you?”
“My name is Phyllis French. Tell me everything you know about Simon.”
Chapter Fifteen
“What?”
“You heard me correctly,” the woman said. “I know who you are and that you took Simon from the Coastal Island Research Park.”
Alanna angled her head away from the doorway as a nurse walked by. “Who exactly are you? And what do you know about Simon?”
Phyllis French’s eyes turned cold. “I’m a reporter for the Savannah Times. I’ve been investigating the research center ever since that story broke on Tom Wells last year.”
Alanna faintly remembered the bizarre study involving memory transplants and cringed.
“I also know that the doctors at the fertility clinic have been conducting follow-up work to that research. Harley did last year, and I’m sure Simon is a product of it.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I posed as a woman needing fertility treatments and went to the clinic for testing.” Phyllis French perked up like a peacock spreading her feathers. “I’m quite the ingenious investigative reporter, you know.”
“No, I don’t know.” Alanna stood, ready to bolt. “And if I believed a baby was involved in something as horrendous as a research project, I certainly wouldn’t talk to the press.”
“Listen, Ms. Hayes, what you don’t seem to understand is that I’m on your side here. I don’t like what they’re doing with Simon and I want to print the truth.”
“The truth might turn his life into a nightmare.”
Her icy hand touched Alanna’s arm. “And I could turn yours into one if I expose you. Now tell me what you know about Project Simon.”
The thinly veiled threat sent Alanna’s pulse skyrocketing.
“Look, Ms. French.” She rubbed sweating palms together. “I don’t know the details surrounding Simon’s birth. I only want to give him a normal life. And printing a story about him will do exactly the opposite.”
“Even if that story exonerates you?”
“I don’t care about myself, just Simon.”
“What about Simon’s real mother. Do you care about her, Ms. Hayes?”
“His birth mother abandoned him—”
“Is that what they told you?”
Alanna could only stare at her and nod. What did this woman know?
Phyllis French pressed a shaky hand to her chest. “Well, that’s not true. His mother loved him and wanted him very much.”
“You know who his mother is?”
“Yes, and I also know the name of his father, but I can’t reveal that information until I have proof. Now tell me, does the baby really need special medical treatment like Dr. Polenta suggested on that news report?”
“I…I don’t know.” Alanna saw Cain’s doctor heading toward her in the hall, extracted herself from the demanding woman’s hold and darted away. The sooner she and Cain left the hospital, the better. Phyllis French might expose her to the police, then they’d lock her up and she’d never see Simon again.
But she hesitated as she reached the doorway, wondering if she’d been too hasty in her exit—if the reporter knew the name of Simon’s birth mother, did that mean she was alive? Did this woman know her whereabouts? Did Simon’s mother want him back?
And what about his father? Did the man who’d donated his sperm and helped create Simon want him as well?
CAIN’S SHOULDER and arm ached, fiery pinpoints of pain stabbing himas the anesthesia wore off. But he’d waved off the nurse’s offer of pain medication. He needed all his faculties in order to think straight. Endless seconds ticked by to the drip of the IV while he waited on Alanna’s return. The cold, white sheets draped in the recovery area added to the claustrophobic effect of the hospital.
He hated being helpless.
Knowing little Simon needed his help fueled his energy, spiking a temper he tried hard to control. One that threatened to erupt any second. He had grabbed the IV needle to rip it loose when Alanna pushed back the curtain and slipped inside.
She laid his jeans and jacket on the end of the bed. “They had to cut off your shirt.”
He retrieved his pants, almost panicking when he reached inside his pocket and felt nothing. Had the cross fallen out when he’d been shot? Willing himself to remain calm, he checked the other pocket. The moment his hand closed around the gold cross, his chest expanded with relief. A tender smile softened the lines around her mouth when she recognized the object in his hand, but faded before it made it to her eyes.
Cain pressed the necklace to his chest. “Get me out of here.”
“Tomorrow,” she said, her voice unsteady. “They’re moving you to a room right now.”
Cain cursed. “I need to get out of here now, Alanna.”
She laid a trembling hand over Cain’s. “It’s nearly midnight, Cain. There’s nothing we can do until morning. Besides, the doctor absolutely refused to release you, and from a medical point of view, I agree.”
He glared at her, willing her to change her mind. But he could tell by the firm set of her fragile jaw she wouldn’t budge. Tenacious, gutsy, courageous—all the qualities he admired in her were the ones that had landed her in this situation. Ones that would have to help her through in case…no, he wouldn’t allow himself to believe that they wouldn’t find Simon.
That she would never hold
the baby she loved in her arms again.
That was not going to be a reality, not like Eric’s death.
The overhead light accentuated the bruises beneath her eyes and her own exhaustion. Something else had happened while she’d left him. “Did the doctor say something to upset you? He didn’t recognize you, did he?”
She shook her head, while a team of orderlies entered the room. They both quieted while they rolled Cain to a hospital room. Once the men had him settled in for the night, he motioned for her to join him by his bedside. She stood hesitantly, the fear and agony in her eyes a thousand times more painful than his gunshot wound.
“Alanna, I know this is difficult—”
“A reporter approached me in the waiting room,” she said in a rush. “She asked about Simon.”
His heart stopped beating in his chest. “What else did she say?”
“Simon’s mother may still be out there looking for him. And so might his father.”
“Do you have any idea who his parents might
Alanna shook her head. She swayed on her feet, and he pulled her toward him. “Come here and lie down. You need some rest. You probably have a concussion yourself.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re anything but fine,” he growled. “Now climb up here.”
She followed his instructions while he dragged himself to the edge of the narrow hospital bed. “We’ll find Simon,” he said in her ear. Careful of his injury, she rolled on her side and laid a hand on his stomach. “I know you want to raise him yourself, Alanna.”
She nodded against him. “I do. I love him more than anything.” With a weary sigh, she lifted her head and looked into his eyes, the sadness there nearly breaking his heart. “But if Simon has a mother or father who want him, who really love him and can offer him a normal life, I’ll have to give him up.”
Cain pulled her into his arms. He prayed it didn’t come to that.
But he also knew she might be right.
PAUL POLENTA LEANED into the wheelchair as Stanley Peterson, one of the heads of the fertility clinic, shoved him into the small hospital room on Nighthawk Island where they had been holding him prisoner. He lifted a weak hand, trying desperately to fight the effects of the drugs they’d pumped into his system, and tugged on Peterson’s sleeve. “Tell me the baby’s all right.”
Peterson glared down at him over his bifocals. “Simon is fine. We’re running tests on him right now to make certain.”
He sighed in relief. At least the baby hadn’t been hurt in that horrible ordeal back at his office, the one he had helped create because he’d had a gun pressed to his head and he’d been too much of a coward to die. Memories of his family back home in Italy floated through his drug-induced haze. He would probably never see them again. Maybe it was better. He didn’t want them to know what he’d done.
“How about Alanna?”
Peterson parked the wheelchair in the corner and folded lab-coated arms across the chest that housed his inflated ego. “That was your mistake, Polenta, falling for the woman.”
Paul ran a shaky hand through stiff, sweat-soaked hair. “Just tell me she’s still alive.”
Peterson shrugged. “Put her out of her mind and focus on your work. Right now that’s the only reason you’re still breathing. When you agree to keep quiet about Project Simon, you can return to the lab.” With a flick of his wrist, Peterson produced a syringe, grabbed Paul’s weakened arm and jabbed him with the needle.
Paul gripped the edge of the wheelchair, wishing he had the energy to fight. But his limbs were leaden, his head spinning as the slow crawl of drugs seeped through his system. A heavyset nurse lumbered in and assisted him to the hospital bed, but he heard voices in the open doorway.
The other scientist, Ames.
“Did they get the woman yet?” Peterson a.
“No, someone drove up in the parking lot and they had to let her go.” A pause. Paul strained to keep his eyes open, his mind alert, but his eyes drifted shut.
“They have to find her and that cop.”
“We’ve been staking out the nursing home where her grandmother is. Odds are she’ll show up there to check on her while she’s here in Savannah.”
“What about Simon’s father? Do you think it’s time we brought him in on things? He’s anxious to return to CIRP.”
“Not yet. But soon. Very very soon. Meanwhile we have to protect his interests.”
Paul gritted his teeth, biting his tongue when he tried to call out and tell them to stop. God, no. The last thing they needed was Simon’s father to resurface…
ALANNA SLOWLY STIRRED, the warmth beneath her cheek so heavenly she didn’t want to move. She’d been dreaming she lived in a beautiful lake house with a white picket fence. And in her dream, she’d shared the house with Simon and Cain.
But reality returned with a bleep of the IV and the realization that Cain had been shot, that he didn’t love her, and that she no longer had Simon.
She might have lost him for good.
Mind-numbing pain seared her.
Worse, even if she and Cain found Simon, the baby might have parents out there searching for him, wanting to claim him as their own.
She opened her eyes, the early-morning sunlight filtering through the hospital blinds a reminder that another day had come, though this one held emptiness and the promise of more sorrow instead of the joy of a baby in her arms.
Pushing the hair from her face, she lifted her gaze to check Cain and found him watching her. His dark gaze skimmed over her, filled with troubled emotions and a sensuality that vibrated through her.
On the heels of awareness rode guilt. How could she even think about sex or the strength of his embrace when her baby was missing?
Because she needed comfort…
He ran his thumb gingerly along her shoulder blade, then pressed a gentle kiss into her hair, his tenderness like a soothing balm to her shattered nerves.
“You ready to get me out of here?”
She smiled in spite of the grief consuming her. “If the doctor says it’s okay.”
“To hell with the doctor.
“Cain, you’ve been shot—”
“And I’ll live. Where’s my phone?”
She slowly sat up, then grabbed his jacket from the chair beside the bed and collected his phone.
“Why don’t you see if you can round me up a shirt while I check in. I need to see if my partner has found anything on Eric’s killer.”
Alanna noed and stood, stretching sore muscles as she tried to ignore the loss she felt when Cain released her. They might have an attraction brewing between them, but she couldn’t kid herself. They both needed comfort now, but when this ordeal ended, when they found Simon or his parents took him, Cain would return to work as a cop in Atlanta and she would have to move on alone.
CAIN’S HANDS clenched in frustration as he watched Alanna slip out the door, the devastation he’d seen in her eyes a mere shadow of the anguish he knew she had experienced over losing Simon. Remembering she couldn’t have children of her own added to the equation. But the fact that she loved this baby so unconditionally that she’d risk her life for his welfare negated any selfish motivation he’d suspected she might have had.
Would it be possible to put Simon back in her arms? Especially if his birth parents came forward to claim him?
Cursing beneath his breath, he punched in his partner’s number, kicking at the sheets as he reached for his jeans. His arm was sore and still connected to the IV, so he couldn’t manage the phone and dress at the same time.
“Wakefield here.”
“It’s me.”
“Why the hell didn’t you answer your phone? I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all night. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. What’s going on? Did you learn something new about Eric’s killer?”
“No. But guys at the Twenty-Third figured out who killed Charlene Banks’s husband.”
“Who?” Not Eric,
please not his brother.
“Seems he had a girlfriend on the side. She didn’t tolerate being a punching bag like Charlene had.”
His breath whooshed out. “Do Wade and Pirkle have any leads on Eric’s murder?”
“Fingerprints from Eric’s place included prints from that missing witness. So it looks like Eric had been covering for him.”
“Palmer’s probably in hiding now.”
“We’re still waiting on DNA for that John Doe burn victim at Grady.”
Hopefully the John Doe was the witness.
“Now, tell me what the hell happened, Caldwell.”
Cain swore, then relayed the events of the past twenty-four hours, beginning with the trap Polenta had set and ending with his injury.
“Dammit, Cain, you should have called me in as backup.”
“Alanna would run like crazy if she knew I’d confided in you.”
“Alanna?”
“Yes, Alanna,” he snapped. A long pause followed, filled with questions that Cain refused to answer.
“You really think this broad’s on the level?”
“I didn’t at first, but I do now. She loves the baby and wanted him to have a normal life. I just wish I knew what had gone down at the center.”
“I can tell you this, bud, the cops are going to be combing Savannah looking for her. Have you seen the news this morning?”
“Hell no, what now?”
“The OB-GYN who delivered Polenta’s baby was murdered last night. And guess who the prime suspect is?”
He muttered a violent oath. He didn’t have to guess. He knew without his partner telling him.
Alanna.
ALANNA VENTURED as far as the elevator near the nurse’s station when she caught a heavyset nurse with curly red hair peering at her over her computer. Another nurse, this one pushing sixty with wiry gray hair, whispered and reached for the phone.
The hair on the back of Alanna’s neck prickled. Not wanting to draw suspicion to herself, she turned away, hoping they hadn’t recognized her. Then she edged herself against the door, punched the elevator button and strained to hear their conversation.
