Kidnapped at Christmas

by Barb Han

  His lips thinned and his eyebrows drew together, but he didn’t speak.

  She glanced at the second name. “Rodney Straum. He works as a youth-group leader. My client is the only one who’s come forward. Forensic evidence corroborates his story.”

  Wyatt white-knuckled his coffee mug and anger seethed behind his normally cool steel-gray eyes. “How do you do it?”

  “What?”

  “Take up cases like these? I’ve heard about two so far, and it’s taking everything inside me not to look these jerks up and teach them a lesson about being a real man,” he said.

  “Hearing about the abuses that occur, that’s the hard part of my job. If that’s all I focused on I’d be in trouble. I mean, these stories make what I’ve been through seem like nothing,” she admitted, realizing she’d slipped. She didn’t discuss her background with anyone. Maybe he’d write it off as her experience with Mary Jane and not relate it to the emotional suffering that came after when her own mother had rejected her. “Here, let me show you something.”

  She moved closer to the computer, ignoring the heat skittering up her arm when her left shoulder touched his right as she repositioned to get closer to the keyboard. Showing him this would hopefully make him feel better because it was the only thing that kept her going when all she wanted to do was cry for the children involved.

  “Here’s an update from Alicia Rose’s mother.” The file opened to a smiling, healthy fourteen-year-old at summer camp. “Her biological father tortured them both. He’s locked away in a place he can’t hurt another woman or child, thanks to tougher laws that we lobbied for.”

  “She looks happy,” he conceded.

  “Alicia’s taking hard classes at school and is an honors student. She has a close circle of friends. None of that seemed possible when she was ten years old,” Meg said, and she could hear the pride in her own voice. “When these men are faced with losing control, they lash out. Anger is how they deal with life. Usually, that means they come at me.”

  Wyatt issued a grunt.

  “I’d gladly take the brunt of a few angry emails in order to protect people who are weaker than I am,” she defended. “None of those words make me lose sleep.”

  “Until now...” Wyatt glanced up at her. “I wish you’d told me about this sooner. You never said anything or gave me the impression anything like this was going on.”

  “We dated a few months. What was I supposed to do? Spill my whole life story?” she asked, but she knew it was a cop-out. A glance toward him said he knew it, too. Okay, she’d kept parts of her life from him...most of her life from him. Guilt stabbed at her, but she deflected. “It’s not like we were serious.”

  Wyatt shot up out of his seat so fast his movement startled her. He raked his fingers through his bronze hair. There was enough stubble on his chin to reveal he hadn’t shaved in at least twenty-four hours. “No. We weren’t.”

  He scooped his cup off the table and refilled it with coffee.

  Why did his words sting so much?

  They’d had a fling. It was supposed to be a stress reliever. So, why did all her plans come back to bite her in the back side? Her fling had turned into what could’ve been real feelings and they’d made a baby. Neither was supposed to be on the table.

  “We were both busy with our careers. We didn’t have time to get to know each other any better,” she said, and there was more defensiveness in her tone than she’d intended. Besides, what had been up with the fact that he only had one coffee mug at his place? Who only had one?

  Wyatt looked at her. No, the right word was through her. And it looked like he was about to say something significant. Whatever it was seemed to die on his tongue. Instead, he cracked a smile and shook his head. “No. We didn’t. Which makes even less sense why we have a baby together.”

  Okay, that hurt. “Aubrey’s a beautiful little girl and none of this is her fault.” Yes, she was being defensive.

  “Never said it was. It’s ours.”

  Oh, was that what he thought? That their child was a burden?

  “You don’t have to be involved,” she defended.

  The look he shot could’ve frozen gasoline. “Then you really don’t know me.”

  “I’m just saying that I didn’t tell you to force you to be involved or get money out of you. I have enough to take care of her,” she said, hating how shaky her voice sounded.

  “My child won’t want for anything.” His tone was final. “I don’t place the blame on you for this happening.”

  He didn’t?

  “I take full responsibility,” he said. “Wish you’d clued me in sooner, but we’re here now. That little girl stirs something in my chest I’ve never felt before. She deserves to know both of her parents. She deserves to have the benefits of a father who has the means to make sure she has access to a good education and is brought up in a nice house. She deserves to have parents who find a way to get along if for no other reason than for her sake.”

  He was making sense and saying the words Meg thought she wanted to hear. So, why did they sting?

  “We can split her expenses fifty-fifty,” she said.

  “With all due respect, I can do better than that.” His tone was final, and she didn’t like the implication that she couldn’t pull her weight when it came to their child.

  “We can work out those details later,” she said with a warning glance.

  He stood there for a long moment before he reclaimed his seat. “Tell me about Zach Brandt.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Brandt is bipolar and drinks to numb his pain,” Meg offered. Changing the subject was probably for the best. Opening up and talking about herself, about their nonrelationship, felt like poking a bruise with a stick, pointless and painful with nothing to gain.

  For Aubrey’s sake, they would need to interact and be strong. If she could get to a place where her body didn’t hum every time he was close, she’d be a lot happier. And there’d be a lot less stress.

  “What’s the story?” he asked.

  “When he’s up, all is well. When he’s down, it gets pretty bad. Paranoia. There are no physical bruises, but once he decided that aliens were trying to read his mind so he blocked out all the windows with aluminum foil and made ‘hats’ from the same material in order to block transmission,” she said. “He would go several days without food or water, saying that the aliens were contaminating the food supply in order to control everyone’s minds.”

  “He sounds like a complete nut job,” Wyatt said.

  “Social services keeps urging him to go to the doctor. As soon as he shows the slightest bit of stability, they return his two children.” Frustration nipped at her.

  “This is the last person on earth who should be caring for children,” Wyatt said.

  “Agreed. His kids are two and four,” she continued. “They’re too young to fight for themselves.”

  “How’d you get the case?” His brow arched.

  “Part of my job is to review social workers’ caseloads. In their defense, they like to keep families together and they also have limited resources to work with. They can’t be certain that kids who end up in foster care or with adopted families end up doing much better. Especially the ones who end up in foster care,” she admitted.

  “This seems like a no-brainer. Take the kids, right?” he asked.

  “In this case, I agree one hundred percent. Nothing good can come from this guy keeping his children. They’re young and adoptable.”

  “So, basically, if you can’t find parents these kids could end up passed around in the system without ever finding a real home,” he said on a sharp sigh.

  Meg nodded.

  “Sounds hopeless if you ask me. Even if you win, they could lose.” He stared hard at a point on the wall.

  “How would any of them know about the rib
bon? I mean, it’s the exact color and kind of ribbon she wore the day...” A sob escaped before Meg could suppress it. She stood and turned her back to Wyatt with a mumbled apology.

  She knew he’d moved behind her even before his hand touched her shoulder. His scent—a mix of outdoors and clean and masculine—filled her senses, robbing her of the ability to think for a split second. Wyatt had that effect on her, which made him dangerous. She could work with him for Aubrey’s sake but, dammit, she couldn’t go there with her emotions no matter how much her body trembled underneath his touch. And it did tremble.

  “Surely the ribbon was in the news. Someone could find a past article and dig up information about it,” he said, and his voice was a low rumble against her hair. The only parts touching were his hand to her shoulder and yet she could feel his presence as though it was wrapped around her.

  “I guess we won’t know until forensics tells us,” she said. It was a valid point. One they wouldn’t have an answer to for a while or until they nailed the bastard and got a confession.

  Her arms had goose bumps, and a trill of awareness shot through her when he closed the distance between them.

  The hand on her shoulder moved her hair to one side, and he dipped his head and pressed a soft kiss on her bared shoulder. Heat flooded her and her thoughts shifted. Muscle memory had her wanting to turn around and reach for him, to feel him on top of her pressing her into the mattress. To feel safe again. It had been so long since she’d felt she could count on someone else.

  It was so easy to get lost with Wyatt standing there, his lips lighting a hot trail up her neck to her ear. She could feel his warm breath sensitizing every place it touched, and her own mouth went cotton-ball dry.

  “Meg,” he said, and his voice was gravelly.

  The baby cried and Meg’s heart lurched. She pushed off Wyatt and mumbled another apology as she darted toward the hallway. The thought of anything happening to her girl—no matter how improbable that was given she was being watched over by the two of them 24/7—caused her heart to jump into her throat.

  Meg raced to the crib in time for another ear-piercing scream.

  “What it is?” Wyatt said, and there was so much concern in his voice.

  Meg made it to her daughter before the next burst of tears sprang from the little girl’s face. Aubrey was fine. A glance at the clock told her everything she needed to know about what was going on with her daughter. “She’s hungry.”

  “Right. Milk. I’ll make a bottle.” There was so much relief in his tone. He disappeared, his deep baritone a cover for how shaken he’d been earlier. A relationship between her and Wyatt wouldn’t amount to more than hot sex...and the sex would be smoking hot. But real feelings? Sexual chemistry was one thing and they had that in spades. And that’s where it skidded to a halt. Wyatt wasn’t capable of more, she reasoned.

  Except when it came to Aubrey.

  His feelings toward his daughter seemed genuine enough, especially with the determined look he got every time he talked about keeping Aubrey safe. She had no doubt that he’d do everything in his power to protect that little girl and give her a bright future.

  Meg prayed it would be enough to keep their daughter safe through this nightmare.

  She gently bounced up and down, soothing Aubrey as best she could. The little girl cried, but even that was a sweet sound to Meg. Being able to hold her daughter after almost losing her...

  The thought of anything happening to Aubrey caused hot tears to spill down Meg’s cheeks.

  Wyatt returned a few minutes later with a bottle.

  “I can feed her,” he offered after getting a good look at Meg.

  Covering the fact she was crying with a cough, she blamed her watery eyes on allergies. “I’ve got this.”

  She would have to learn to share Aubrey in the very near future. Now, though, she couldn’t go there. Meg needed to hold her daughter in her arms.

  Aubrey latched on to the nipple immediately and settled with the first drop of warm liquid in her mouth. Meg walked to the bed and perched on the edge, gazing down at her little miracle.

  A dark feeling settled over her as thoughts of Mary Jane’s kidnapping resurfaced.

  Had her kidnapper been working with a partner? Or had past news coverage of the crime brought a different kind of boogeyman out from under the bed? One who wanted to see Meg suffer before killing her?

  * * *

  WYATT MIGHT BE brand-new at this parenting thing but he knew Meg well enough to realize that she needed to hold her daughter. He closed the door behind him and moved into the kitchen.

  After pouring a cup of coffee—because he could face facts, there’d be no sleeping tonight—he moved back to the laptop. His own work was piling up, but Alexander was handling the bigger tasks and nothing was more important to Wyatt than keeping that little girl in the next room safe.

  His emotions had gotten the best of him earlier. Emotions...sexual chemistry? Hell, he couldn’t tell them apart anymore when it came to his reaction to Meg. The two had had great sex last year. No question. But he was beginning to realize just how precious little he really knew about her.

  In her defense, there was no way to work into conversation the kind of horror she’d been through as a child. And he could see why she’d want to distance herself from all of that and never bring it up again.

  Then there was his complicated family dynamic to deal with. His personal business was being splashed all over every front page of most every news outlet. Maverick Mike Butler was big news. Even more reason Wyatt didn’t want or need to be included in that family.

  Since going down that route was as productive as trying to milk a cat, he refocused on the screen. Families were complicated as hell. The thought of his own daughter going through any of that nonsense sent a wave of rage surging through him.

  He didn’t know the first thing about parenting, and his role model for being a father was a complete failure at the job. Further, Wyatt didn’t know the first place to begin to figure it out. His mother had been a decent person. Poverty hadn’t given her a lot of options, and he’d often wondered how on earth she’d met Maverick Mike let alone struck up an affair with the man. But, then, based on his reputation, Maverick Mike had taken up with quite a few women and hadn’t seemed to mind walking away.

  Anger was a hot poker pressed to Wyatt’s chest thinking about a rich man taking advantage of his mother. And yet part of him wondered how that could’ve been. She’d been one of the strongest people he’d known, making it difficult to imagine anyone could get one over on her.

  He wondered how Butler had taken the news that Wyatt’s mother was pregnant. How vulnerable his mother had had to be to tell Butler in the first place.

  Now that was ironic.

  Wyatt flashed to the morning Meg had told him about Aubrey. He’d been about the biggest jerk a man could be under the circumstances. Damn. It was becoming hard to condemn his own father considering how Wyatt had handled the conversation.

  Meg was proud, like his mother. Had his mother refused support, too? Had Butler even bothered to offer?

  Maybe that’s what set Wyatt apart from the Butler family. He took responsibility for his actions. No amount of arguing would stop him from taking care of his child. He expected nothing less of any guy who called himself a real man.

  “Find anything interesting?” Meg’s voice cut through his heavy thoughts. He glanced up to see the baby being gently held over Meg’s shoulder as she bounced and patted the little girl’s back.

  “I need to say something,” he started. Finding the right words was hell. He settled on, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for all of it.”

  “It’s not your fault,” she said without hesitation, and he appreciated her letting him off the hook so easily. He couldn’t.

  “Yes, it is.”

  Now she turned to him and he half exp
ected her to check his forehead for fever.

  “Hold on. Before you assume I’ve lost it, hear me out. If I’d been a better man, you would’ve come to me sooner,” he said.

  Meg looked floored.

  “I appreciate you being willing to take the fall for that, but I should’ve let you know the minute I found out,” she argued.

  “You would’ve if I’d made you feel safe enough.”

  * * *

  MEG ALMOST DIDN’T know what to say in response. Was that true? Could she so easily shift blame to Wyatt for her actions?

  No. Because if she let him take the fall for this, then what else would she blame others for?

  “I appreciate the sentiment. I really do. But we’re going to have to agree to disagree on this. I should’ve been stronger. I panicked. Not that I don’t love Aubrey with all my heart. I do. But I completely freaked out when I learned I was pregnant and backed off,” she said.

  “Because I didn’t make you feel safe.”

  Okay, repeating those words weren’t going to make them come true. Plus, they riled her up. Call her a feminist, but his actions didn’t dictate hers, she thought stiffly. But she could see that he was making an effort to take some responsibility for where they were emotionally and she respected that. Plus, they did need to find common ground for Aubrey’s sake. Learn to work together better so their daughter didn’t pay the price.

  “I appreciate what you’re saying. And I want to work together, too. If we get along and make joint decisions, Aubrey’s life will be better for it.” Aubrey would never feel she’d been responsible for her parents not getting along or being married. So much for feminism. Meg could bring up her daughter on her own. Aubrey would always feel loved by her mother...