First-Class Father

by Charlotte Douglas

  “You’re a hunter?” Dylan indicated another picture with Tipton in camouflage clothing, kneeling beside the carcass of a deer in a wooded clearing.

  “When I have time,” the lawyer said. “I bagged that deer in Minnesota last year.”

  “With that rifle?” Dylan indicated the weapon Tipton grasped in the photo.

  “A Winchester Model 70. It’s a great gun.”

  “With a telescopic sight?”

  Tipton stiffened. “Why are you here, Officer Wade?”

  “I’m investigating a kidnapping and attempted murder.”

  “Is one of my clients a suspect?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  The attorney rose from the chair and returned to the seat behind his desk, as if to distance himself from Dylan and his questions. “Who was the subject of this kidnap and murder attempt?”

  “Chip Taylor and his mother, Heather.”

  Tipton’s closed expression revealed nothing. “Heather Taylor who teaches at the high school?”

  “That’s right,” Dylan said. “I understand you threatened to destroy her job a few weeks ago.”

  Tipton’s tight smile didn’t reach his eyes, and his tone was biting. “As an attorney, I would be remiss to answer any more questions without the benefit of counsel.”

  “Only if you’re guilty.” Dislike for the pompous attorney churned in Dylan’s gut. “If you can establish alibis for a few critical dates and times, you could save us both a lot of bother.”

  Tipton punched the button on his intercom. “Ms. Zach, get Walter Fedderson on the phone.”

  “Let me run a ballistics check on your rifles, and handguns, if you have them,” Dylan said. If Tipton was innocent, he probably wouldn’t object. “If the slugs used in the shooting don’t match those from your guns—”

  The attorney interrupted him with a sharp laugh. “I’ve seen too many innocent people tormented, even convicted, because of overzealous police tactics. If you have any more questions, you’ll have to wait until my lawyer arrives.”

  The phone buzzed on Tipton’s desk. He answered, listened without speaking, then hung up. “My attorney is in court. So unless you have a warrant…”

  Dylan stood and strode toward the door. At the threshold, he turned. “As I told you, you have a nice family, Mr. Tipton. If anyone ever tries to kidnap your daughter or murder your wife, I hope the police receive more cooperation in their investigation than you’ve given me.”

  He stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him. When he reached the reception area, Heather stood. “Do you want me to go in now?”

  He shook his head. “It would be a waste of time.”

  She took long steps to keep up with him as he hurried to his car. “You’ve crossed him off as a suspect?”

  He climbed into the driver’s seat and started the Jeep. “It’s not that simple. I don’t know whether Tipton’s refusal to answer questions comes from guilt or legal paranoia.”

  In the passenger seat beside him, Heather sighed. “So we don’t know any more now than we did before.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” He pulled out of the parking lot onto the street. “From the pictures displayed in his office, I know it’s possible Mrs. Tipton was the woman at the school, and Tipton owns a rifle with a scope.”

  “As you law enforcement types are prone to say, that evidence is only circumstantial.”

  He reached for her hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze. “If the ballistics report on the slug from your pantry indicates the bullet could have come from a Winchester Model 70, that and Tipton’s threats against you might be probable cause, enough for a warrant to check Tipton’s guns.”

  “Are you going to question Mrs. Tipton?”

  “He’s probably already contacted her with a warning not to speak to anyone without their attorney, and their attorney’s still in court.”

  She withdrew her hand from his grasp and sat silently for a moment. “Can we go back to your folks now? I want to see Chip.”

  “Sure.” Frustrated at their lack of success at discovering the kidnapper—and by his own desire, he merged the Jeep into interstate traffic and headed for Dolphin Bay.

  HEATHER ROSE FROM the rocker with Chip asleep in her arms and laid him in the crib in the Wades’ guest room. Although he had squealed with happiness at her return, his contentment with his grandparents was clear. If anything good had come from the chaos of the past few days, it was Chip’s relationship with Margaret and Frank. No little boy could ask for better grandparents.

  Earlier, Margaret had insisted Dylan stay for supper. Heather, remembering his embrace earlier that day and hoping to ease her craving for his arms around her, had longed for his departure.

  He hadn’t cooperated with her unspoken wish for him to leave. He’d remained after the dishes had been cleared, and for the past hour, he and his parents had talked quietly around the kitchen table while Heather prepared Chip for bed.

  Although it was still early, she decided to turn in rather than face Dylan and her mutinous yearning again. She had changed into her nightgown when a soft knock sounded on her door.

  “Who is it?” she whispered.

  “Me,” Dylan answered quietly. “Mom and Dad want you to join us in the kitchen.”

  She leaned against the door, weak from the responsive vibrations his voice had generated. “I’m going to bed.”

  “There’s something we have to discuss. Tonight.”

  His stern tone alarmed her, but she hesitated. With Margaret and Frank present, however, she was unlikely to succumb to anything as foolish as she had this morning when she’d returned Dylan’s kiss. If he hadn’t broken away…

  “Okay. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  She waited until his footsteps faded down the hall, then tugged on her robe and slippers. After assuring that Chip slept soundly, she followed Dylan into the kitchen and sat at the table across from Frank. Margaret placed a cup of coffee in front of her.

  “It’s decaf,” the older woman said, “so don’t worry about it keeping you awake.”

  Margaret’s ordinarily pleasant voice was strained, her smile tenuous, and she avoided Heather’s gaze. Her strange, almost guilty behavior increased Heather’s alarm. The warnings clanged louder when Frank, too, avoided her eyes.

  A terrifying possibility for the Wades’ discomfort occurred to her. Had the low voices she’d heard from her bedroom been plotting to take Chip away from her? Had Dylan convinced his parents to help him gain custody of his son?

  She refused to endure another minute of agonizing suspense. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

  Frank looked up from his hands, which he’d been studying since she’d first sat at the table. “We want to take Chip—”

  “You can’t have him.” She congratulated herself on her unruffled refusal.

  Moving from where he’d leaned against the counter, Dylan stepped behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. She nearly rose from her seat, but forced herself to listen, as he said, “Don’t jump to conclusions. Let Dad finish.”

  Frank’s smile was apologetic. “I guess I phrased that wrong. Maybe I’d better start over.”

  “Tell her,” Margaret encouraged her husband with a nod, “just like we decided.”

  Distracted by Dylan’s warm grip, Heather struggled to concentrate on Frank’s explanation.

  “We’re all worried about your safety, yours and Chip’s.” Even with his graying hair and aging face, Frank was a handsome man. He looked like Dylan would in thirty years. “Until we can identify who’s after you, keeping you safe is iffy business.”

  “Surely we’re safe enough here,” she protested. “But if we’re a bother—”

  “You’re no bother.” Margaret patted her hand. “We love having you and Chip. But that’s not the point.”

  “The point—” Dylan spoke from behind her and gripped her shoulders tighter “—is that the person we’re looking for is clever and determin
ed. Since we don’t know whether we’re dealing with a man or a woman, the person could have been watching your house, even following us without our knowledge. By now, whoever it is probably knows me and my car.”

  “And they know you were with Dylan when he interviewed suspects today,” Frank added.

  The direction of their thinking became suddenly clear. “You think the kidnapper will try to find me through Dylan?”

  “It’s a logical assumption.” Dylan’s fingers worked soothing circles against her shoulders, a delicious counterpoint to her tension.

  “Dylan and Frank are the only Wades in Dolphin Bay,” Margaret said. “Even though neither is listed in the telephone directory, finding our house would be easy for someone determined enough.”

  Frank cleared his throat. “Jake Emerson, my former partner, has a little house on Crystal River about an hour’s drive north. Because it’s in Jake’s name, and we haven’t worked together for years, no one would think to look for you and Chip there.”

  “You want Chip and me to move to the river?” Imagining the isolation, Heather shuddered.

  “You wouldn’t be alone,” Margaret assured her. “Frank and I would go with you.”

  Dylan clasped her shoulders again. “I’ll stay here to search for the kidnapper.”

  “No,” Heather said.

  “No?” He dropped his hands and circled to face her. “Chip’s my son, too. I won’t let you risk—”

  “Now who’s jumping to conclusions? It’s a good idea for Margaret and Frank to take Chip to the river. But I’m not going.”

  “Why?” Margaret asked.

  “Because I might lead whoever’s trying to kill me to Chip. He’ll be safer with just the two of you.”

  “Where will you stay?” Frank asked.

  “I’ll go home.”

  “That’s crazy.” Dylan’s angry voice echoed in the quiet house. “Or suicidal.”

  “I want this nightmare over, and it won’t end until we catch the kidnapper.”

  “How will putting yourself at risk accomplish that?” Compared to her son’s, Margaret’s tone was gentle.

  “If the kidnapper can’t find me, he’ll simply lay low until I show up again. But if he knows where I am, he’s more likely to try something and give us a chance to catch him.”

  “I won’t allow you to risk it,” Dylan said.

  “Your permission isn’t required.”

  His face flushed with anger. “You have to think of Chip. If anything happened to you—”

  The pain in his expression roused her hunger for him. She longed to embrace him and kiss the torment from his face, but concern for her son came first. “I am thinking of Chip. He won’t be safe until this maniac is caught. If Chip and I both go into hiding, the kidnapper might, too.”

  Dylan slid into the chair beside her and covered her hands, gripped on the tabletop until her knuckles paled, with his. “I interviewed two men today, both with hate in their eyes when they spoke of you. Either one could be the man who tried to kill you, who may try again. Please, go to the river, at least until Cramer and I have checked out Hayward and Tipton.”

  “What if it isn’t one of them? What if it’s that woman? Can’t the police put me under twenty-four-hour surveillance to watch for whoever tries something next?”

  “She has a point,” Frank admitted.

  “Frank Wade,” Margaret said hotly, “I won’t have my grandson’s mother used as a lure for a killer.”

  “Mom’s right,” Dylan said. “Besides, Cramer told us how shorthanded they are. Round-the-clock surveillance takes too much manpower.”

  “Then you can protect me.”

  She spoke before the full implication of her words hit, too late to snatch them back. After the way her traitorous body had responded to his kiss this morning, spending every minute with him would be asking for trouble. She held her breath, hoping he’d refuse.

  “If you insist on returning home,” he said with quiet intensity, “you can bet I’ll stick with you, closer than a burr on a dog.”

  The intimacy of that analogy left her breathless, but she’d accomplished what she wanted. Chip would be safe at the river with Margaret and Frank, and she could concentrate on flushing out the person who had tried to harm her and her son.

  As for her own safety, she had no doubt Dylan would do everything possible to safeguard her, but only because doing so was his job and she was the mother of his son. Recalling his adamant rejection of marriage spared her any illusions about his motives.

  “When will you leave?” she asked Margaret and Frank.

  “Before dawn tomorrow,” Frank said. “Jake’s going to follow us to make sure we’re not tailed by anyone.”

  Heather looked to Dylan. “I’d like to go with them, long enough to settle Chip in a new place.”

  “We’ll follow in my car,” he said. “You’d better pack for Chip, then get some sleep.”

  Nervous energy had kept her going, but now fatigue drained her. She rose wearily to her feet and hugged Margaret. “I don’t know how to thank you and Frank for all you’re doing.”

  Margaret enfolded her in an embrace. “You’re family, and we take care of one another.”

  Margaret released her to Frank, who wrapped her in a hug that squeezed the breath out of her.

  “We’ll keep Chip safe and happy,” he promised.

  Blinking back tears of gratitude, Heather told the older Wades good-night. She didn’t dare look at Dylan, afraid in her precarious emotional state she’d say or do something she’d regret.

  The heat of his gaze seared her, even after she left the room.

  THE SUN WAS SINKING into the Gulf of Mexico when Dylan turned the Jeep onto the highway and headed back toward Dolphin Bay.

  “Sure you won’t change your mind about staying at the river?”

  Heather shook her head. “We’ve been over this a dozen times. Chip will be safer without me. And he’s perfectly happy with your mother.”

  “Mom had plenty of experience.”

  “She’s a natural with kids. Your dad, too. Chip’s really looking forward to fishing with his grandpa tomorrow.”

  She had left Chip in Margaret’s lap in the cozy living room of the river cottage, his blond head cradled against her ample bosom while she sang him silly songs. When Heather kissed him goodbye, he hadn’t fussed.

  Despite Chip’s obvious contentment, she missed him. Except for the hours he’d been at day care and with the Wades, she hadn’t been away from him since his birth. They’d never before spent as much as twenty-four hours apart. She smiled, remembering the first months of his life when she’d tiptoed to his crib several times every night to gaze in wonder at the tiny miracle and to assure herself he still breathed.

  “I don’t think it’s safe to return to your house tonight,” Dylan said.

  “Why not?”

  “Too easy for someone to hide in the darkness. I’ll take you home in the morning, when I can check the house and grounds in daylight.”

  “I don’t mind sleeping at your folks’ one more night.”

  “Good. We’ll stop by my house first to pick up my gear.”

  Contemplating a night under the same roof with him made her giddy. Since she’d first met him, she had longed to see his face on the pillow beside her when she awoke each morning, hoped for the day when marriage would make that dream come true. Breaking off with him hadn’t cured her of that dream, no matter how often she reminded herself of his opposition to marriage and lifelong commitment.

  She sighed. Keeping her emotional distance with him sleeping down the hall might prove more difficult than separation from Chip.

  “I made some calls while you were showing Chip the river,” he said. “Cramer had some interesting news.”

  She twisted toward him. The afterglow of sunset streamed through the car, illuminating his face with the golden luster of polished bronze. “Does he have a suspect?”

  “Not yet. Robert Tipton’s lawyer call
ed him this morning.”

  She grimaced. “To complain about your visit?”

  “Surprisingly, no. He said the police could pick up his client’s guns and run their ballistics checks. The lawyer insists Tipton has nothing to hide.”

  “Does that mean we can scratch Tipton as a suspect?”

  “Not yet. He’s too savvy to invite police to check out a rifle he used in a crime, and if he’s our shooter, he’s had time to dispose of the weapon.”

  “Looks like we’re back where we started.”

  “Not entirely. According to ballistics, the slug taken from your pantry was either .308 or 30-06 caliber, which would fit either Tipton’s or Hayward’s rifles. Cramer has a detective verifying Andy Hayward’s shooting range alibi. If Hayward lied about his whereabouts, Cramer will have cause to request a warrant to seize his guns for ballistics tests.”

  “And those will tell you if Andy was the shooter?”

  He nodded. “If the rifling in the barrel of one of his guns matches the markings on the slugs.”

  Obtaining a warrant and more ballistics tests would take days. She clamped her jaw tight in frustration. Until whoever had kidnapped Chip and tried to kill her was behind bars, her life would remain in limbo. Watching the stars come out as darkness suppressed the lingering colors of the sunset, she settled into her seat and wondered how many more days of this torture she could stand.

  Forty-five minutes later, Dylan turned the Jeep into the driveway of his house and shut off the engine. “Have you told your folks about the kidnapping?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t want to worry them.” She glanced at her watch. “I should ring them now, in case they’ve tried to call me at home. May I use your phone?”

  “Come inside. You can call while I get my kit.”

  She opened the door, climbed out and paused to stretch muscles tightened by the long drive. Something rustled in the hedge beside the driveway, and she glanced up.

  A dark figure hurtled out of the darkness.

  A metal blade glimmered in the weak light, and her scream ripped the night air.