Their Only Child

by Carla Cassidy

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Excerpt

  About the Author

  Books by Carla Cassidy

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Cast of Characters

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  Copyright

  Sully had always been her weakness.

  But Theresa was grateful he was here for her now.

  “We’ll get through this, Sully,” she said, turning so she stood directly in front of him. She reached her arms up and locked her hands behind his neck. Gazing into his soot-colored eyes, she saw a spark of something she never thought she’d see again.

  Beneath the worry, desire flared. He tightened his grip on her waist, tugging her closer to the solid warmth of his body.

  She closed her eyes and leaned into him. In his arms again at last, she found the inner strength to believe that Eric would be returned to them, safe from harm.

  “Theresa…we’ll find him. We’ll find our son and bring him home for Christmas.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Carla Cassidy is an award-winning author of more than forty books. She’s been a cheerleader for the Kansas City Chiefs football team and has traveled the East Coast as a singer and dancer in a band. But the greatest pleasure she has had is in creating romance and happiness for readers. Carla lives in the Midwest with her husband, Frank.

  Books by Carla Cassidy

  HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

  379—PASSION IN THE FIRST DEGREE

  411—SUNSET PROMISES*

  415—MIDNIGHT WISHES*

  419—SUNRISE VOWS*

  *Cheyenne Nights minisenes

  Don’t miss any of our special offers. Write to us at the following address for information on our newest releases.

  Harlequin Reader Service

  U.S. 3010 Walden Ave., PO Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

  Canadian: PO. Box 609, Fort Ene, Ont. L2A 5X3

  Their Only Child

  Carla Cassidy

  To Pat Morris, talented writer and special friend. Thank you for being there to share the madness, the tears, and especially for possessing a special gift of laughter.

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Eric Mathews—A missing child.

  Theresa Mathews—The prosecuting attorney feared her work might be the cause of her son’s kidnapping.

  Sullivan Mathews—A tortured man whose redemption lies in saving his son.

  Donny Holbrook—A cop rushing against the hands of time to save Eric.

  Vincent and Rose Calino—These neighbors loved Eric as their own. Had they taken the boy to make him their own?

  Robert Cassino—Was his desire for Theresa stymied by the presence of her child?

  Burt Neiman—Theresa had put his brother in jail. Had he gotten revenge by stealing her son?

  Chapter One

  December 22

  Theresa Mathews glanced at the stove clock as she put the last dozen cookies into the oven. Three-thirty. Eric should be home from school in the next fifteen minutes or so.

  She walked over to the table, where two dozen freshly baked cookies still awaited the layer of frosting and sprinkles that would change them from ordinary cookies to Christmas bells and trees.

  She’d saved the decorating for Eric, although he’d never have confessed to his friends he liked to decorate cookies. Just as he didn’t let on to them that he loved to read and needed a good-night kiss each night before he could sleep.

  Theresa shook her head and smiled. Her little boy was shedding some of his childhood pieces, and she mourned the little boy gone, but anticipated the young man to come.

  He’d be in a terrific mood today, given that it was the last day of school before the extended Christmas holiday. Three more days and Santa would arrive, bringing with him the computer game Eric had wanted, a new bicycle, and an official Joe Montana football jersey.

  Of course, the one thing Eric wanted most for Christmas, she couldn’t give him. She couldn’t make them a family again. She shoved away thoughts of Sully, refusing to allow memories of her ex-husband to curtail her happy holiday spirit

  She was determined that this Christmas would be as wonderful as all Eric’s past ones, despite the absence of his father.

  “Yoo-hoo.”

  Theresa smiled when she heard the musical voice and the creak of the front door opening. “In the kitchen, Rose,” she answered.

  Rose appeared in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, her broad face beaming a smile. “Where’s my little guy?”

  “Not home from school yet.” Theresa motioned her next-door neighbor into a chair at the table. “You know Eric—the five-minute walk from school never takes him less than fifteen.”

  Rose set a gaily wrapped present next to her and reached for one of the cookies. “You can just slip this under the tree when you put the rest of the presents out,” she said.

  Theresa shook her head. “That’s the third gift you’ve brought over for him. You’re spoiling my son.

  “Ah, how can you spoil a child like Eric?” Rose popped a piece of the cookie into her mouth, then waved her hands dismissively. “The sweetness of the saints was breathed into that boy.”

  The moment Theresa and Eric moved into this house, ten months before, Rose Caltino and her husband, Vincent had adopted them. They treated Theresa as the child they’d never had, and had become indulgent, loving, surrogate grandparents to Eric.

  “I saw in the paper this morning that you won your latest case,” Rose said.

  A flush of pleasure warmed Theresa’s face. “Yes. It looks like Roger Neiman will be enjoying the hospitality of prison for a long time to come.”

  “The paper called you the rising star in the district attorney’s office.”

  Theresa laughed. “Next week one of the other prosecutors will be the rising star. The paper likes whoever wins in the most recent case.”

  “Maybe, but you’re much better-looking than the other prosecutors,” Rose exclaimed, making Theresa laugh once again.

  “I think you might be prejudiced, my friend,” she replied.

  Rose grinned. “Perhaps. And now I’d better get back home before Vincent comes looking for me. That man has been so mysterious lately, I’m beginning to think he has a girlfriend.”

  Theresa laughed. Never had she seen a man so devoted to a woman as Vincent was to Rose. “After thirty years of marriage, I don’t think you have to worry about Vincent having a girlfriend. You two are the happiest couple I know.”

  Rose stood. “I’m a lucky woman. Anyway, I just wanted to bring that present by for Eric.” Theresa walked with her through the living room to the front door. “When are you going to decorate the tree?” She gestured toward the perfectly formed Scotch pine in the stand in the corner.

  “This evening. I’m going to make popcorn and hot spiced cider. If you and Vincent want to come over, you’re welcome.”

  “We might just do that,” Rose replied. Then, with a wave of her hand, she took off walking across the narrow swatch of lawn that separated her house from Theresa’s.

  Theresa watched her go, a warmth of affection sweeping through her as Rose turned one last time and waved. She was lucky to have neighbors like the Caltinos, lucky to have such special friends.

  Looking at the clock once a
gain, she frowned. Even if Eric stopped to examine every crack in the sidewalk, every crawling bug, he should have been home by now. Back in the kitchen, she placed lids over the frosting bowls, then grabbed her coat from the hall closet.

  She went out the back door, breathing in the cold air that held the subtle scent of possible snow. She shoved her hands deep in her pockets. Snow would be nice. She was off work until after the holidays, and she wouldn’t mind a bit if they were snowed in for a couple of days. It would be nice to have extra time to spend with Eric.

  There were times when she suspected that on her days off Eric intentionally dawdled on his way home. It had become a common practice for her to come looking for him. When she found him, he shared with her whatever wonders had caused him to pause and linger.

  Last week, it had been a leaf that resembled Abraham Lincoln’s profile. The week before, it had been a spiderweb glistening in gossamer splendor in the boughs of a tree. Eric the explorer…that was what they’d called him from the moment he could walk. Never had Theresa seen a child who took more delight in the world around him.

  As she walked down the tree-lined sidewalk, she once again congratulated herself on choosing to move to this tiny suburb, a mere half hour from downtown Kansas City.

  Following their divorce, Sully had offered to move out of their midtown condo and let her and Eric remain, but she’d wanted something different, a new beginning. She’d needed someplace without painful memories, memories of laughter…and love.

  As she moved down the sidewalk toward the elementary school, she scanned both sides of the street, looking for Eric. What had he worn to school that morning? She frowned, trying to remember. Jeans for sure. Since beginning the fourth grade, he wouldn’t be caught dead in anything but jeans. A bright blue sweater, and his red Kansas City Chiefs coat. He should be easy to spot amid the browns of winter.

  She reached the school building without spotting Eric. Maybe he’d had to stay after school, she thought. Although usually a good student, there were times his daydreaming got him into trouble. She smiled, her heart expanding with her love for the boy. God forbid a butterfly landed on the window during math class or an interestingly shaped cloud skittered by in the middle of social studies. Eric would be lost to a world where butterflies spoke and he could ride a cloud to the stars.

  She frowned. Usually the teacher or the secretary called her when they were holding Eric after school. A small sense of disquiet stole through her as she headed for the school building.

  The Kennedy Elementary School was a one-story brick building with a bike rack in front. The rack was empty, as was the hallway when Theresa walked inside. Again a tingle of vague nervousness raced up her spine. Her footsteps rang hollow against the shiny tiled floor as she walked down the long hallway.

  She felt a surge of relief sweep through her when she saw the office lights still on. She walked in, and the secretary, Mrs. Jenkins, looked up and smiled. “Mrs. Mathews. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m sorry to bother you. I’m looking for my errant son, and thought he might be here with you.”

  Mrs. Jenkins raised a hand to her lips. “Oh, goodness.” She shuffled through some paperwork on her desk. “I think Eric was on the absentee list for today.”

  “Oh, no, that’s impossible.” A whisper of fear crawled up Theresa’s throat, and she swallowed hard against it. “I didn’t call him in sick, and nobody called me from the school.”

  “Oh, my, it’s all my fault.” Concern, mixed with apology, flickered in Mrs. Jenkins eyes. “I…I was in the middle of calling parents when Sammy Bowens came in with a bloody nose. The nurse was out of the building and I had to stop what I was doing and take care of him and, well, I guess I didn’t get everyone called.” She flicked through more papers, then picked up the one she sought. “Yes…here he is. Oh, God…I’m so sorry I didn’t call you.”

  Theresa took the absentee list from her and scanned it, her gaze pausing on first her son’s name, then another one. “I see Willie Simmons was absent, as well.” She grasped a thread of hope. “I’ll bet those two are together somewhere.”

  “Well, there you go.” Mrs. Jenkins nodded her head in relief. “The two boys probably cooked up a day of playing hooky.” She pushed her phone toward Theresa. “Why don’t you call Mrs. Simmons? I imagine you’ll find that she doesn’t know anything about Willie missing school today, either.”

  Theresa quickly punched in the numbers to Willie’s house, hoping, praying the boys would be there, getting a sound lecture from Mrs. Simmons. One ring. Two rings. She listened to ten rings before she replaced the phone in its cradle. “No answer,” she said.

  “Perhaps Mrs. Simmons is out looking for the boys, or she could be on her way to your house with Eric.”

  “Yes…yes, I’m sure you’re right.” Theresa felt a nervous tic pulsing in the side of her neck. “I’d better get right home.”

  “I’m sure it will be okay,” Mrs. Jenkins said, although Theresa heard the concern in the older woman’s voice. “Eric and Willie aren’t the first little boys to decide they need a day off from the classroom.”

  Surely Mrs. Jenkins was right, Theresa thought as she hurried out of the building and down the sidewalk toward home.

  Surely the boys had just decided to play hooky. It wouldn’t be the first time Willie and Eric had made a poor choice that led them into trouble. Both boys were bright, but somehow, when they got together, they only functioned on half a brain between them.

  I’ll ground him for a month, she vowed, her footsteps a rapid staccato on the sidewalk. I’ll take away his computer privileges. I’ll make him do the dishes for the next six weeks.

  She focused all her thoughts on punishment, refusing to think of any other scenario than that the two boys had skipped school and were probably hiding out someplace in fear of the consequences of their actions.

  “Eric?” she called out the moment she reentered the house. No answer…and no sign that he’d been home.

  Don’t panic, she instructed herself calmly as the pulse in her neck throbbed in an unsteady rhythm. Boys, in the irresponsibility of youth and the pursuit of adventure, often lost track of time, not thinking of worried adults.

  She went to the phone and punched in Willie’s number once again. She nearly sobbed in relief when the phone was answered on the third ring and she recognized Willie’s voice.

  “Willie, this is Eric’s mother. Is Eric there with you?”

  “No. We’ve been gone to the doctor’s office. I got the measles.”

  “Is that why you weren’t in school today?” Theresa tightened her grip on the phone cord.

  “Yup, I woke up all spotty and Mom kept me home.”

  “So, you haven’t seen Eric all day?” Theresa’s voice was weak, thready, and the blood pounded loudly in her ears.

  “I talked to him on the phone last night, but I haven’t talked to him since then.”

  “When you spoke to him last night, did he say anything about visiting any other friends…? Did he mention special plans for today?”

  There was a long pause…a pause Theresa wanted to fill with a scream. Instead, she swallowed the scream and twisted the phone cord more tightly around her hand. “Please, Willie…try to think where he might be.”

  “Well, Bobby Michaels’s dog had puppies yesterday, and Eric really wanted to see them.”

  “Thank you, Willie. If you see or hear from Eric, would you tell him to call me right away?” Theresa hung up the phone, fighting down a nauseating fear that threatened to overwhelm her.

  She immediately pulled her personal phone book out of the drawer and began calling the numbers of Eric’s friends, beginning with Bobby Michaels.

  By the time she’d phoned everyone she could think of her fear was a living, breathing entity inside her, threatening to suffocate her. Nobody. Nobody had seen or heard from Eric all day long.

  “Where is he?” she breathed aloud. She sank down at the kitchen table and stared at the cook
ies, awaiting their festive holiday dress. Where was her baby? Where was Eric?

  She thought of phoning Sully, but knew it was pointless. If by some minor miracle Eric had managed to get to his father’s apartment, Sully would have immediately called her. Nor would Sully have made plans to spend the day with Eric without okaying it with her first. Sully didn’t function that way.

  She picked up the phone one last time, and quickly punched the numbers 911, her entire body trembling as the realization struck her full force. Eric was not just an hour late coming home from school. He’d been missing for over nine hours.

  THE SOUND pierced through the stillness of the apartment. Sullivan Mathews flailed his arms and backhanded his clock radio to ward off the discordant sound. The radio crashed to the floor, and he burrowed his head deeper into the pillows.

  When the annoying noise came again, he realized it wasn’t the clock, it was the phone. Rolling over on his back without opening his eyes, he grabbed the receiver and held it to his ear.

  “Sully…are you there?” Kip Pearson’s voice boomed over the line, and Sully swallowed a growl of displeasure.

  “I just went to bed,” he exclaimed as he reached down to the floor for the alarm clock. The digital numbers told him it was almost 5:00 p.m. “Correction, I’ve been in bed for exactly one hour.” He rolled over on his back, feeling the last vestiges of sleep disappearing.

  He should have known better than to spend the morning in the gym. He’d finally gotten away from the club at five that morning, and he should have come home and gone directly to bed. Instead, he’d spent the day working out, then had eaten an obscenely large dinner to make up for all the exercise. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “What’s up?” he asked his friend.

  “We just got word of a 911 call.”