“Ms. Stewart?” Commander Knapp’s tinny voice rose from the phone. “I’ll give you a few minutes to process the news and then I’ll call back.”
She couldn’t even say thank you. The phone slipped from her fingers and dropped to the desk blotter. Tears kept gushing. Snot ran down her upper lip. A box of tissues kept for clients sat on the corner of her desk, but she couldn’t so much as reach for it.
Why did this feel so much like grief? Or was she letting go of an overload of grief that had built, day by day and year by year, until it was too much to contain?
Someone knocked. When she didn’t answer, the door cracked open. Jillian Markham, who had the next office, took one look and then rushed in.
“Oh, my God! Dana, what’s wrong?”
Dana’s face contorted and she cried harder.
Jillian saw the phone. “Bad news?”
Dana managed to shake her head.
“Oh, honey.” Jillian bent to hug her, deftly swiping her nose and cheeks with a tissue at the same time. “Just let it out.”
Dana couldn’t have said why that struck her as funny, but suddenly she was laughing and crying at the same time. Her body shook even as she soaked her coworker’s blouse, but Jillian only held her tighter.
Slowly, slowly, the storm abated. Maybe she’d run out of tears. Exhaustion swept through her, and she sagged. She felt as if she could slither to the floor, becoming a puddle.
“Honey?” Jillian pulled back a little, her face worried. “Let me get a wet washcloth and we’ll clean you up a little.”
She couldn’t have been gone a minute. The slightly rough cloth, wet with cold water, felt astonishingly good. Dana couldn’t remember the last time anyone had babied her like this—and that included her mother. She wouldn’t have permitted it. Yet here she sat, docilely accepting it.
Finally, Jillian patted her face dry, then perched on the edge of Dana’s desk. In her thirties, too, she was a curvaceous brunette whose husband was a physics professor at the University of Colorado. Dana always tried not to look at the framed photos of Jillian’s husband and two children on her desk.
“Can you tell me about it?” she asked.
Could she? Dana scrunched up her face and worked her mouth. The muscles were still obedient, if oddly numb.
“My son was abducted when he was a baby. Eight months old.” She could talk after all. Until now she’d only ever spoken of Gabriel to other parents who had lost a child. None of her coworkers knew, not even the ones like Jillian she considered to be friends. If they had, they might have worried about her. Pity, sympathy, might have broken her. “He was stolen from his crib. Police never found a trace. Nobody noticed anyone around the house.” Her mouth was dry. She finished, “That was eleven years ago.”
“I wish I’d known,” Jillian whispered. Suddenly tears glittered on her lashes. “I’m so sorry.”
“The phone call. It was the police detective who investigated.” Pressure built in her chest again. “They’ve found him, Jillian. Gabriel is alive. I don’t even know why I cried.” The words were so stunning, so beautiful, she had to say them again. “He’s alive!”
And, just like that, the pressure became a radiance that was surely visible through walls.
“He’s alive.” She smiled, she laughed and she cried again, Jillian doing the same. “I’ve waited eleven years to say this. My Gabriel is coming home.”
* * *
A MAN WHO’D once melted into the shadows and waited without moving for hours on end when he’d been hunting bad guys, Nolan couldn’t make himself sit down. He prowled the downstairs, wound so tight he expected to snap. Why hadn’t the woman called?
“Crap.” He rolled his shoulders. Maybe she’d never call. Maybe she’d had five more children by now and written off her firstborn. He could hope.
Christian was huddled upstairs in his bedroom. He’d promised to come down when he heard the phone ring, but he hadn’t promised to speak to Dana Stewart. His mother.
Nolan reached the living room wall and spun to continue his restless pacing.
The news had come a lot faster than he’d expected and could not have been worse. Either Marlee herself had stolen Christian—whose name had been Gabriel Angus Stewart—or she’d gotten him from someone who’d done the stealing. Either way, Christian had parents. Parents who had searched desperately for him, who had loved him, mourned him. Parents who had never given up.
Or, at least, a mother who hadn’t given up. Evidently, Gabriel’s parents had split up after his disappearance. Nolan knew that a tragedy often led to that outcome. People didn’t grieve the same way or at the same pace. They turned inward. They had to focus their rage on someone, and who was more available than a spouse?
It was the mother who was supposed to call any minute. Nolan had no idea what to say to her. He remembered his promise to Christian.
I’ll fight dirty to keep you, if it ever comes to that. And if there’s one thing I learned at Fort Bragg and overseas, it’s how to fight dirty.
But panic stalked him. How was he supposed to fight a woman who’d done nothing wrong? Who only wanted her little boy back?
His phone rang.
He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering himself, before answering. No sound came from upstairs. No eager or even reluctant feet thudded down the staircase.
“Nolan here.”
There was a small silence. Then a soft woman’s voice said, “Mr. Gregor?”
“That’s right.” It wasn’t in him to help her.
“I’m Dana Stewart. Gabriel’s mother.”
“He’s been Christian for a long time, Mrs. Stewart.”
“Ms.,” she said, almost sharply. “I’ve been divorced for a long time, too.”
“Why did you keep your husband’s name, then?” He threw it out, a challenge.
“Because it’s Gabriel’s.”
The simple truth in a tremulous voice made his head bow, his face twist.
“I understand.”
“Will you tell me more?” She sounded humble. “I mean, about how you ended up with my son?”
He couldn’t deny her this much.
“I’m former military. I was overseas when my sister emailed to let me know she was pregnant and expecting anytime. She was living in Denver.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “My parents and I weren’t thrilled. Marlee was mentally ill. At the time, she seemed stable. She responded well to medication but wouldn’t always stay on it.” He paused. “She returned to the West Coast about the same time I came home on leave, her little boy eight months old.”
“She planned to steal a baby.” This voice wasn’t tremulous. It was lent resonance by rage.
“It...would appear so. When I confronted her after finding out Christian’s blood type, though, she denied anything like that. I think she really believed that Christian was hers. That she’d gone through a pregnancy and had him the usual way. She told me how many hours she’d been in labor.”
“She lied.”
“Her truths weren’t the same as most people’s.”
“You’re excusing her.”
Suddenly angry, he said, “I’m explaining her. Do you want to hear it or not?”
In the silence that followed, he felt her grabbing for calm. He wondered what she looked like. Had Christian’s blond hair come from her or his father? Christian was a strikingly handsome boy, embarrassed because girls liked him. Did his looks come from her? His height?
“You’re right,” she said, with what he suspected was hard-won poise. “I know this can’t be easy for you. She’s your sister.”
“She was my sister. Marlee died a month ago.”
“Oh,” she whispered.
“Christian has lived with me for a couple of years anyway, and I spent as much ti
me as possible with him before that.” He might as well lay it all out there, he decided. “As far as I’m concerned, he’s my son.”
“And yet he’s not.”
“He’s a good kid. He loves me.”
“That doesn’t make him yours.”
The fear of losing Christian would crush him if he let it. “He’s not your baby anymore, Ms. Stewart. You have to understand. He’s five foot six. Doing advanced math. Summers, he teaches windsailing and kayaking classes. He’s damn near a teenager.”
“Why did you put his DNA online if you feel this way?”
The question rocked him. Because it was the right thing to do.
“Because I understood that you might be out there, clinging to hope, fearing he was dead. I couldn’t let you keep hurting.”
“Thank you.” The softness was back, the undertone that spoke of devastation, of an unexpected miracle. “You can’t imagine what it felt like to get that call.”
As an opponent, she’d be hard to knock down. She had too much on her side.
“Have you let Christian’s father know?”
“Yes.” Constraint could be heard. “He’s as thrilled as I am. Needless to say, he’s eager to see Gabriel, too.”
“I assume you want to talk to Christian,” Nolan said abruptly.
“Yes. Oh, yes. Please.”
Damn it, damn it, damn it.
“Hold on.” He went to the foot of the stairs, covered the phone and called for Christian.
After a minute, a door opened and the boy appeared. He took the stairs slowly, shoulders hunched, expression mulish but his eyes showing how scared he was.
“Your mother,” Nolan said, and held out the phone.
* * *
DANA WAITED, ALL of her focused, hungry, listening for a voice she’d feared never to hear.
“Uh...hi.” The uh was deep, the hi a squeak. Damn near a teenager.
Her breath came faster. He wasn’t her baby, hadn’t been for a long time. He was almost twelve years old. How could that be?
“Hello—” she made herself say it “—Christian. I’m your mother.”
“I don’t know,” he mumbled.
“Accepting what you do know can be hard.”
His “I have a mom!” sounded angry, almost violent. Then he went quiet for a moment before saying more softly, “Had a mom.”
“I have missed you every day since you were taken.”
“Mom wouldn’t have done that.”
“Somebody did.” Dana knew she’d said it too sharply, but how could she not let him know how angry she was. “You were asleep in your crib in your bedroom. It was spring. The weather was nice. Your window had a screen, so I...left it open.” Craig had never let her forget that by doing so, she had left their child vulnerable. He didn’t quite say, It was your fault, but he didn’t have to. “You’d had a restless night, so I took a nap, too. When I woke up and went into your bedroom, your crib was empty and the screen on the window had been removed.”
Not only removed: stomped on, twisted. In unwary moments, she still saw the window screen lying mangled on the lawn. It had epitomized the worst of her fears. What kind of person had taken the time to destroy the window screen only because it had briefly gotten in the way?
Gabriel didn’t say anything. Even in her turmoil, she knew how torn his loyalties had to be. How could he accept that the woman he’d believed was his mother had committed a crime so awful?
“May I speak to Mr. Gregor again?” she said politely.
Her son didn’t even say goodbye. He probably felt a rush of relief as he handed off the phone.
The slow, rumbly voice was back. “If you’ll give me your email address, I’ll send you some pictures.”
She trembled. To see his face!
“If you would—” more that was hard to say “—I’d be grateful.” She gave him her email address.
“Consider it done.”
His kindness was reluctant but real, she thought.
She steeled herself. “Mr. Gregor, I have already bought an airline ticket. I will be arriving tomorrow. Can you recommend a place to stay?”
“Don’t you think you should give this longer before you get pushy?”
“I can’t read him when we’re on the phone.”
“Our computer has a camera. You could Skype.”
Anger punched through all the other emotions. “If you were me, would that satisfy you?”
Silence. He didn’t want to say no. Admitting as much would give the advantage to her.
“The Lookout Inn,” he said abruptly. “It’s a nice place. With this being out of season, you shouldn’t have any trouble getting a room.”
“Thank you,” she said. She didn’t care if she had a nice place. Eleven years of longing had coalesced into one driving need: to see Gabriel. “Then you can expect me tomorrow.”
“Doesn’t sound like we have any choice,” he said.
She looked at her phone suspiciously and saw that her guess had been right; he’d ended the call.
Would he still email the photos? Her heart drummed. Please, oh, please.
With a shaky hand, she dialed Craig’s number. She’d promised to let him know once she’d talked to Gabriel and what her plans were.
Dana desperately did not want him to insist on coming to Lookout, too. She had no desire to see him, but it was more than that. He had gone on with his life so quickly. He had two other children. Losing his son? Hardly a blip in his life.
She rarely wasted thought on her ex-husband, but bitterness seared her now. Craig had given up on Gabriel. So who was he to pretend to care now?
* * *
UNFORTUNATELY, THE MORNING dawned sunny. Nobody would be going out on the river without a wet suit, but that didn’t stop most ardent wind-or kitesurfers. A powerful wind that funneled between banks of the Columbia River Gorge was the draw. It wouldn’t be like summer, but a sparkling spring day would have Nolan busy from the minute he opened. If not for the business, he’d have been tempted to go out on the water himself.
He wished he’d thought to ask when Ms. Stewart expected to arrive.
Christian had exploded the minute he learned his biological mother was coming.
“You said you wouldn’t let her take me!” he had yelled.
“I said I’d fight her,” Nolan responded, weary and, yeah, freakin’ terrified he would lose. “And she isn’t here to take you away. What she wants is to see you. Talk to you.”
“I don’t have to talk to her if I don’t want.”
Shit. Nolan had pressed the heel of his hand to his breastbone to suppress the pain beneath. “Christian, this is a woman who has hurt for a very long time because she loved you so much. Think about how you want to treat her.”
Too many confused emotions crossed the boy’s face before he bolted upstairs. Nolan had let him go.
Wind & Waves didn’t offer lessons until mid-April. There wasn’t enough call for them. He rented a lot of windsailing packages and Hobie Cats as the morning went on, though, and sold a bunch of accessories, too.
Midafternoon, he had a lull. Over the winter and early spring, he covered the store with minimal additional staff. At the moment, Amir was out helping a couple launch a small catamaran-style Hobie Cat, leaving Nolan alone inside. The growl of his stomach reminded him he hadn’t had a chance to take lunch. Since he’d been so tied in knots this morning, he hadn’t managed to swallow much of his breakfast, either.
Nolan was reaching for his phone to order delivery from a local deli when the bell on the door rang and a woman walked in. He froze, hand outstretched, and watched her look around as she approached the counter. She might be a customer...but he was betting not.
No—he knew she wasn’t. The resemblance b
etween this woman and Christian was too obvious.
Tall and yet slight to the point of appearing fragile, Dana Stewart wore honey-blond hair in some kind of twist on the back of her head. Her bone structure echoed her son’s—no, he supposed it was the other way around. Her cheekbones were almost too sharply defined, leaving hollows beneath. There was a tension to the way she carried herself, shoulders squared, head high, as if she wouldn’t let herself relax in any way. The hand not clutching a purse was curled into a fist.
She was beautiful, but he wondered how much more beautiful she’d been before her son’s disappearance damaged her in ways both visible and invisible.
Needing to be battle ready, Nolan slid off the stool and stood before she reached him.
He met wary gray eyes, which she hadn’t bequeathed to Christian. His were a warm brown.
“Ms. Stewart.”
“You’re guessing,” she said, in a distinctively throaty voice.
“No.” He made a sound even he couldn’t decipher. “You look like him.”
Pleasure showed on her face. “I do, don’t I? Thank you for emailing the pictures. I know you were annoyed at me—”
“I’m not that petty,” he broke in.
Her teeth sank into a full lower lip. “I...would have understood.”
Nolan had to momentarily close his eyes to recover his resolve. I’ll fight dirty to keep you, if it ever comes to that. Of course it would come to that. No, he might not be petty, but inevitably, he would hurt this woman.
“Christian is still in school.”
“I assumed he would be. Someone at the inn—” she gestured behind her “—told me where to find you.”
Nolan waited.
“You don’t want me here.”
“He’s not ready.”
The pain in those eyes could rip him in two. “Mr. Gregor, do you know how long I’ve waited to see my son?”
His jaw tightened. “Are your needs more important than his?”
A Mother's Claim Page 3
