“Maybe they did,” Dillon agreed, glancing away from the earnest look in her eyes. He didn’t want to think about the stab of pain her words caused inside him. Didn’t want to think why he suddenly, irrationally, felt angry toward her again.
He deliberately moved away from her. “I don’t see any pictures of Brad in here. Did you put them away already?”
“There weren’t any to put away. Brad never lived here.”
Dillon glanced at her but didn’t comment. Taylor watched him prowl restlessly around the small confines of her living room. She wasn’t sure what had brought on his anger this time. It didn’t seem to take much. Just being around her was enough.
“I heard you and Brad were separated.” Dillon stopped pacing and stared at her from across the room.
“We were legally separated for almost two years.”
“Why not simply divorce?”
“Things were…complicated.” She tugged at the crystal earring dangling from her lobe. “Brad had a lot of problems. He had trouble adjusting to our being apart and he asked me to give him some time.” How had the two months he’d first requested become two years? How had she allowed her life to hang in limbo for so long?
Taylor turned away from Dillon’s stare, afraid suddenly that he would see more than she wanted him to. “I was never the wife Brad wanted or needed me to be,” she said softly. “I felt I owed him at least my loyalty. In some ways, I still owe him. That’s one of the reasons I need to find out what really happened to him. If Brad was murdered, I can’t let his killer go free.”
“And if he was murdered, you still think Elliot Westcott may have had something to do with it.”
Taylor nodded. “I know there’s no real evidence, Dillon, but I’ve thought about this a lot since I received that second newspaper clipping. It’s almost impossible to get an appointment with Dr. Westcott. He usually accepts patients only on referral, but because of his association with Brad, he agreed to take me on even though my pregnancy was perfectly normal at first.
“I can’t help wondering if perhaps part of the reason Dr. Westcott agreed to accept me as his patient was because he’d screened me and my baby from the very first examination. There was nothing wrong with me. No reason for a doctor specializing in high-risk pregnancies to accept me. It was only later in the pregnancy that I developed complications. And now I can’t help but wonder if he didn’t cause those complications somehow, or at least fabricate them, so that I would have to be admitted to the Westcott Clinic.”
“I still find it difficult to believe a man in Westcott’s position would do anything so risky,” Dillon said. “What’s his motive? Other than monetary compensation, and he certainly doesn’t need that. He has everything to lose and nothing to gain by involving himself in such a scheme.”
“You don’t know him.” Taylor wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed her bare arms, suddenly chilled as she remembered Dr. Westcott’s veiled threat in her office. “He’s cold, Dillon. The coldest man I’ve ever met. It’s more than just professional aloofness. He seems completely devoid of feelings. The God complex you’ve heard about in some doctors is true. I’ve seen it, but never so obvious as in Dr. Westcott. I’ve thought about this a lot, too, and I think I know why he would be involved in something like this. Because he has the power to do it. Because he thinks he has the right.”
Dillon remained silent for a moment, considering, Taylor hoped, everything she’d told him.
“Dr. Westcott was in my office earlier today for a meeting concerning his daughter,” she told him. “He knows I was at the clinic asking questions. He warned me to mind my own business, and he all but threatened me if I didn’t. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to learn that he was the one driving that car tonight.”
“We can easily find out what kind of cars he owns.”
Taylor caught her bottom lip between her teeth. She gazed at Dillon as hope fluttered to life inside her. “Does this mean…are you finally starting to believe me?”
He studied her for a moment. “Someone tried to kill you tonight. I can’t ignore that fact. If Elliot Westcott or Deirdre Robinson had anything to do with it, believe me, I’ll find out.”
“And what about the baby? Our child?”
“What about him?”
“Will you find that out, too?”
“If there’s anything to find out,” Dillon said, his tone grim.
“There is. I’m right about this,” she said softly. “Our baby didn’t die. He’s still alive.”
Dillon’s eyes closed briefly. “And what if he is, Taylor? Have you really thought about that? Thought beyond just finding him? What if he’s happy and healthy and has a family who loves him? What then?”
Taylor rubbed her temple with her fingertips. “Of course, I’ve thought about that. You don’t know how much I hope that’s true. I want him to be happy and healthy. I want him to have a loving family.”
“And if he does,” Dillon said slowly, his gaze studying her intently, “you’ll be able to walk away?”
Her blue eyes filled with sudden tears. “All I want is the truth, Dillon. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I would never do anything to hurt our child. You have to know that.”
He let out a long breath. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. I believe you. Come on. I’ll drive you to your mother’s house.”
“But then where are you going?” Taylor followed him reluctantly to the front door.
“I’m going out to be a cop.” A subtle challenge glinted in his eyes. “After all, that is why you looked me up after all these years, isn’t it, Taylor?”
DILLON PULLED INTO the circular driveway of the white brick mansion on Tamarind Street and parked. The house was brilliantly lit, both inside and out, and the towering stained-glass front doors glowed like gemstones.
He sat for a moment, staring up at the imposing facade. He remembered the first time he’d ever seen Taylor’s home, how completely overwhelmed and intimidated he’d been. Miranda Walsh had done everything in her power to foster those feelings of inadequacy. She’d made her disapproval plain from the moment Taylor introduced them.
Though he’d managed to get through that first evening without any embarrassing mishaps, Dillon had left the mansion that night feeling as if he’d escaped from prison.
From then on, he’d always made excuses for not coming in when he dropped Taylor off. He had to study. He had to work. He had a million reasons why he couldn’t come in and say hello to her mother.
The feeling of déjà vu was so powerful that when Taylor turned to him and asked, “Would you like to come in?” Dillon immediately declined.
And was immediately annoyed with himself for giving in to those old memories. The old insecurities. For the entire time he and Taylor had been together, he’d done everything he could to avoid Miranda Walsh. To his irritation, Dillon realized he was still trying to avoid her.
He shrugged and reached for the door handle. “What the hell,” he muttered. “I’ll walk you in.”
Taylor’s mother, perfectly groomed in loose flowing silk blouse and pants, answered the door herself. “Taylor! Where on earth have you been? I’ve been worried sick.”
“Sorry I’m so late,” Taylor murmured, brushing her mother’s cool, unlined cheek with her lips. She felt Miranda stiffen as she saw Dillon over Taylor’s shoulder.
“You remember Dillon Reeves,” Taylor said.
Silence. The thought crossed Taylor’s mind that for the first time in her mother’s life, Miranda Walsh might actually be speechless.
Then she seemed to collect herself as she stepped back from the door. “Of course,” she said formally. “Won’t you come in?”
Dillon followed Taylor through the entry hall with its high, vaulted ceiling, past the elegant, curving staircase, into the room Miranda referred to as the drawing room, with its paneled walls, stained-glass skylights and floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on a walled courtyard and fountain.
One of the French
doors had been left open to the sultry June night, and a breeze stirred the crystal teardrops of the Waterford chandelier.
Miranda followed them into the room. “May I offer you something to drink…Dillon?” She pronounced his name very succinctly, making it sound cold and hard.
“I can’t stay.”
“A pity.” A look of pure relief swept over Miranda’s features. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll tell Maria it will be just two for supper.”
When she’d left the room, Dillon turned to Taylor. “Are you going to tell her about tonight?”
Taylor winced. “I’m not sure how much I’m going to tell her. I know she’s bound to find out about my visit to the Westcott Clinic. She’s on the board. Once we start asking more questions—”
“Wait a minute,” Dillon cut in. “What do you mean, we?”
“Well, I just thought—”
His expression hardened. “Don’t go back out there asking questions, Taylor. In fact, the best thing you can do is stay the hell away from that place. If your suspicions about Brad turn out to be true, then the real killer is still out there somewhere. If you start asking a lot of questions, he could come after you. In fact, he may already have done so.”
“Then you think there is a possibility that Dr. Westcott is involved?”
“Anything’s possible. You’ve already been out to his clinic asking questions once, and tonight someone nearly ran you down with a car. Until we find out who was responsible, the best thing you can do is lay low. Let me handle it.”
Taylor’s heart gave a little leap. “Then you are going to help me. Oh, Dillon, thank you. Thank you. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Dillon warned, his eyes still hard. “I have an idea when I bring all this up to my lieutenant tomorrow, he’s going to laugh me right out of the department.”
But Taylor couldn’t contain her relief. She knew now that Dillon would find a way to help her, no matter what. Together they’d prove Brad was murdered because of what he’d found out about the Westcott Clinic. And if that something proved to be baby-swapping—as the anonymously sent newspaper articles seemed to suggest—then the next step would be to find their child, and make sure he was safe.
Taylor walked him to the front door. Before he left, he turned back and stood staring down at her, searching her face as if there was something more he wanted to say to her. Something else he wanted to do. For one heart-stopping moment, Taylor thought he might actually mean to kiss her. Her heart started to pound as she gazed up at him.
Suddenly she wanted very much for him to kiss her. Wanted to find out if that dark, seductive quality in his eyes was more than just a promise.
Desire ignited inside her, and Taylor’s breath quickened. This is a mistake, something inside her warned. She couldn’t let this happen. She couldn’t let him kiss her. Because if he kissed her…
If he kissed her, she would be reminded too painfully of everything she had lost. Everything she had missed for the past ten years.
And Taylor didn’t want to be reminded of what she had lost. She wanted to think only of what she had to gain.
The truth, she told herself. The truth was all she wanted.
Something of her turmoil must have shown on her face for a frown flickered across Dillon’s features. Then he turned toward the door. “I’ll be in touch” was all he said before he disappeared into the night.
Taylor turned and saw her mother watching her from the drawing room doorway.
“What was he doing here?” Miranda didn’t bother to disguise the contempt in her voice.
“He drove me home earlier,” Taylor said. “And then knowing I didn’t have a car, he volunteered to bring me over here.”
Miranda looked at Taylor as if she’d taken leave of her senses. “Drove you home? Where were you, and what happened to your car? How on earth did you end up with…that man?”
Taylor sighed as she lifted a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. “It’s a long story, Mother. Maybe you’d better sit down.”
She ushered Miranda into the drawing room and, once they were both seated, told her mother everything that had happened since Brad’s funeral, only leaving out the incident earlier that evening. Taylor didn’t see any sense in worrying Miranda needlessly.
When she concluded her story by explaining that she’d gone to see Dillon to enlist his help, Miranda’s face visibly paled. The hand she placed on Taylor’s arm trembled.
“My God, what have you done?”
Taylor had anticipated her mother’s shock. She’d even prepared herself for Miranda’s scorn. But the look of panic in her eyes took Taylor completely by surprise.
“What do you mean, what have I done?” She shook off her mother’s hand. “I’m doing what I have to do to find out the truth. I would think you’d want that, too. After all, we’re talking about your grandchild, you know. Or hadn’t you thought of that?”
If possible, Miranda’s face grew even whiter, more drawn. She closed her eyes for a moment. “We already know the truth. Your baby died. Yours and Brad’s. He died the night he was born.”
“You know as well as I do that he was not Brad’s baby. Dillon was the father, and our child is very much alive. I know it. I feel it.” Taylor pressed her hand to her heart, feeling the rapid beat inside her chest that hadn’t quite calmed to normal since Dillon’s departure.
“You’re distraught, Miranda said in a rush. “Brad’s death has done this to you. It was such a shock to all of us—”
“It wasn’t a shock to anyone who knew him. That’s why it was so easy for his killer to get away with murder. Think about it, Mother.”
Taylor began to tick off the reasons on her fingers. “Brad had a history of severe depression and alcoholism. He’d tried suicide at least once before. And he’d just been suspended from the hospital. Given all that, it’s little wonder no one questioned his suicide. Until now.”
“Taylor, please.” Miranda took her hand. “Don’t do this to yourself. I can’t bear it.”
“Why?” Taylor demanded. “What is it you can’t bear? The truth? Well, I’m sorry, Mother, but I can’t bear not knowing. I can’t bear thinking that my child is out there Somewhere…and may need me. That’s what I can’t bear. That’s what I can’t live with. I have to know he’s all right. Don’t you see?”
Miranda shook her head sadly. “All I see is that you’re letting yourself in for more heartache.”
“Well, I should be used to that by now, shouldn’t I?” Taylor was surprised by the bitterness welling inside her.
Miranda got up and paced to the French doors. Her emerald silk blouse fluttered in the breeze. “I’m sorry your marriage to Brad turned out so miserably. I blame myself for pushing you into it. You were so young, frightened. I blame myself for so many things.” She wrung her hands as she stared into the darkness. “But you were my only child, Taylor. I always did what I thought was best for you. You do believe that, don’t you?”
Taylor stared at her mother’s back, wondering about Miranda’s reaction. “I don’t blame you for anything, Mother. My mistakes were my own. But I don’t want to think about the past anymore. I’m tired of living with regrets. All I want to do is find my child. Surely you can understand that.”
When Miranda finally turned, her eyes were bleak, haunted. She fingered the pearls at her throat. “I do understand. I just hope you will…”
Chapter Eight
Dr. Charles Robinson and his wife, Deirdre, lived in a Spanish-style mansion surrounded by an eight-foot stucco wall a few blocks from Tamarind Street. Dillon pulled up to the security gates, pressed the intercom button and a female voice with a light Spanish accent asked him his business. When he told her who he was, the gates slid silently open, and Dillon drove through.
A uniformed maid, presumably the same one who had let him in the gates, answered the front door. Dillon showed her his ID and badge, then told her he wanted to speak to the Robinsons.
“Wait here.” She ushered him into the foyer.
Within seconds a tall, distinguished-looking man with gray hair appeared. “May I help you?” he asked with obvious concern as he approached Dillon. Then his brows drew together in a frown. “Do I know you?”
Dillon recognized Charles Robinson right away. He and his wife, along with their son, Brad, had been members of the country club where Dillon had worked during college.
He removed his ID again and presented it to Dr. Robinson.
“Dillon Reeves,” Robinson muttered. “I didn’t recognize the name at first, but now I remember you. You were Taylor’s friend.”
“You have a good memory.”
“What can I do for you Mr., er, Sergeant Reeves?”
“Does your wife drive a dark blue BMW?”
“Yes.” Robinson’s eyes grew even more wary. “What’s happened?”
“A car matching the description of your wife’s was involved in a vehicular assault attempt,” Dillon said.
“Vehicular assault attempt? I don’t understand.”
“Someone tried to hit Taylor Walsh with a car earlier tonight. An eyewitness described the car as a dark blue BMW. I’d like to talk to your wife about her whereabouts this evening.”
“This is ridiculous,” Dr. Robinson sputtered, but Dillon thought he glimpsed a flash of fear in the man’s eyes.
“I’m not here to accuse your wife of anything,” Dillon assured him. “I’d just like to ask her a few questions.”
Dr. Robinson shoved his hands into his pockets. He had the look of a man trying to appear calm. “She’s already retired for the evening, I’m afraid. Surely this can wait until morning. My wife…hasn’t been well, Sergeant.”
“I understand. Does anyone else have authorization to drive your wife’s car? Any of the household staff perhaps?”
Amanda Stevens Bestseller Collection: Stranger In Paradise/A Baby's Cry Page 28
