“What?”
Miranda sat down on the sofa and pulled Taylor down beside her. “Deirdre has been admitted to the psychiatric ward at Mercy General.”
Taylor gazed at her mother in shock. “When?”
“Last night, or rather early this morning. Evidently Deirdre had quite an episode during the night. She disappeared and no one knew where she’d gone. Charles drove the streets for hours, looking for her. Then when Deirdre finally showed up at home, she was like a wild animal. She physically attacked Charles. You know how strong she’s always been. He had to sedate her before he could take her to the hospital.”
Taylor sat back, digesting all that her mother had told her. Could Deirdre have been the one who attacked her last night? She’d been sure her assailant was a man, but her mother was right. Deirdre Robinson had always been strong and athletic. Brad used to complain that she could still beat him at tennis.
“Is that why Charles was here? To tell you about Deirdre?”
“Of course. What other reason could there be?”
You tell me, Taylor thought, still not able to forget the intimacy of the scene she’d walked in on.
“Now,” Miranda said briskly. “I want you to tell me what really happened to your arm.”
“I was attacked in the boiler room at Claymore. Someone tried to kill me.”
Miranda’s hand flew to her throat. Her fingers entwined with the pearls draping her neck. “No!” she whispered. “Oh, God, no. Were you…are you…”
“I’m fine, Mother. The assailant was scared off before he could really harm me. I broke my wrist when I fell down the stairs.”
Miranda flinched, as if in pain herself. She glanced down at Taylor’s cast. “My poor baby! Did the police catch whoever did this?”
Taylor shook her head. “The police don’t even believe me. Except for Dillon.”
At the mention of Dillon’s name, Miranda’s concern vanished. Her jaw tightened. “What does he have to do with this?”
“He thinks as I do that my attack had something to do with our investigation into the Westcott Clinic.”
“Oh, dear God. I was afraid something like this would happen.” Miranda got up and strode over to the window, staring out into the darkness. She put her hands to the sides of her face. “I knew no good would come of all those questions you’ve been asking.”
Taylor got up and went to stand beside her mother. She grabbed Miranda’s arm and forced her to face her. “What do you mean? You sound as if you know something.”
Miranda bit her lip. “I don’t. I just know no good can come of poking into the past. Haven’t we all suffered enough? Poor Brad and now Deirdre—”
“Leave them out of this. I’m talking about you, Mother. Why have you been so adamantly opposed to my finding out the truth? What are you so afraid of?”
“I’m afraid for you,” Miranda insisted. “You were almost killed, for God’s sake. I should never have let it come to this.”
Taylor stared at her mother. “How could you have stopped it? How could you have known that someone would try to kill me for asking a few questions?”
Miranda turned back to the window. She took a deep, trembling breath. “Elliot Westcott called me right after he’d heard you’d been to the clinic. He told me to get you to back off, or else—”
“Or else what?” Taylor demanded.
“Or else we’d both be sorry.
“He threatened you?”
“Not directly. I thought perhaps he was talking about my seat on the board. I never dreamed—
“Why didn’t you tell me this before, Mother?”
Miranda glanced at Taylor, then looked away. “Because I wanted you to drop the investigation myself. I didn’t want you getting involved with that man again. He’s no good, Taylor. He’ll only hurt you.”
“Dillon is the only one who believes me,” she said angrily. “He’s the only one who’s stood by me in all this.”
“Because it suits his purposes to do so!” Miranda turned and gripped Taylor’s shoulders. “Listen to me, darling. I know that man. I know exactly what he wants. Think about it. You’re young, beautiful and wealthy now in your own right. Why wouldn’t he help you? Why wouldn’t he stand by you now?”
Taylor stepped back from her mother’s grasp. “It’s not like that. It’s never been like that.”
Miranda just shook her head. “You’re being taken in by him again. I can see it in your eyes. Oh, darling, don’t you see? Dillon Reeves left you once. What makes you think he won’t do it again when he gets what he wants?”
EVEN THOUGH SHE’D fortified herself with a hot bath and two pain pills before going to bed that night, Taylor still found herself tossing and turning. Her nerves were on edge, and no wonder. Someone was trying to kill her. Someone had deliberately lured her down into that cold, dark basement and attacked her last night.
But if she were being completely honest with herself, she’d have to admit that the real reason she was so restless tonight had less to do with her fear of what had almost happened to her, and more to do with her acute awareness of Dillon, who was just one thin wall away from her in the guest room.
He’d been waiting for her when she’d gotten home from her mother’s that evening, and he’d insisted on spending the night again. Taylor knew she should have sent him away, but a tiny part of herself knew it was too late to prevent the inevitable. It had been too late the moment she’d gone knocking on his door.
Hearing him move about the room next to her filled Taylor with an unexpected yearning. The bedroom door opened, then the bathroom door, and in a moment, Taylor heard the shower start up. She lay there, picturing the water sluicing down his naked body, remembering the way he looked when he—
She took a deep breath, trying to quiet her rioting heart. It would be a simple thing to slip into his bed and wait for him to get out of the shower. She didn’t think he would turn her away. For a few hours they could lose themselves in each other’s arms, but what about afterward? Would a one-night stand be enough for her? Or would it simply make her want him all the more?
Would it make her realize all over again just what she had lost when Dillon had walked out of her life?
DILLON STOOD with his hands propped against the shower wall as the cold water peppered his skin. He hated cold showers, but he found he’d been taking too damned many of them lately, especially when he woke up in the middle of the night, thinking about Taylor.
He wished he could get her out of his head once and for all, but he couldn’t. He’d never been able to forget her. Not even when he thought she’d betrayed him. She’d always been there, in the back of his mind, teasing him, taunting him with her beauty, her sweetness, making him want what he knew he couldn’t have.
He still wanted her.
I never betrayed you. I never slept with Brad. Not even for a long time after we were married.
Dillon pounded the shower wall with his fist. If only he’d known. If only his pride hadn’t kept him away from her, they might still have been together today. He and Taylor and their child. A family.
But he hadn’t trusted her. He hadn’t had enough faith in their love, and so he’d walked away and spent the past ten years alone with his pride and his memories.
He slicked back his hair as Lamar Jackson’s words came back to haunt him. The woman is trouble, Reeves. Bad trouble. Now, you know that. You just don’t want to admit it.
And then Neal saying, Are you willing to risk your whole career for her?
Dillon closed his eyes. Was he? Was he willing to risk it all—his career the least of it—for what might have been?
Maybe if he could have her, just one more time, he would finally be able to get her out of his system. Maybe making love to Taylor again would finally give him the closure to their relationship that he’d been searching for.
Because being with her couldn’t possibly be the way he remembered. The fireworks. The explosions. The sweetness. All of that had been buil
t up in his mind to exaggerated proportions. Reality could never measure up to his memories.
Maybe it was time he prove that to himself once and for all.
Chapter Thirteen
“Sergeant Reeves.” Dillon cradled the phone against his shoulder as he thumbed through the file on his desk.
“This is Allison St. James, Sergeant. Do you remember me?”
Dillon shifted the phone to his other ear. “Dark hair, big brown eyes, legs that won’t quit.”
She laughed. “You play the game well, but I can tell when a man’s heart isn’t in it.”
“I guess I’m out of practice.”
“Or maybe you’re just in love.”
Dead silence fell across the line. Then Allison laughed again. “Did I hit a nerve?”
“Missed by a mile,” he said, shifting the phone again. “What can I do for you, Ms. St. James?”
“Allison, please. And it’s not what you can do for me. It’s what I can do for you. I have something I think you want.”
“And what would that be?” Dillon asked cautiously.
“Don’t sound so suspicious.”
“I’m a cop. That’s my job.”
“I’m trying to help you,” she said, sounding a little peeved.
“Yeah, well, I guess I’m wondering why you’d do that.”
There was a pause, then Allison said, “Let’s just say, I have my reasons and leave it at that. Do you want the information or not?”
“I want it,” Dillon said. He’d worry about her motives later. “What have you got?”
“The name of a nurse who used to work at the clinic. To be more specific, she was on duty the night Mrs. Robinson gave birth.”
Dillon felt the adrenaline start to pump in his veins. He grabbed a pen. “Who is she?”
“Her name is Lara Mendoza. She was only employed at the clinic for a few weeks before Mrs. Robinson delivered, then she left a week or so later. No one here seems to remember much about her except for one thing. She spoke with a Spanish accent.”
THAT AFTERNOON, Quentin Thorndike summoned Taylor to his office. The headmaster at Claymore Academy was a thin, taciturn man of about fifty who seemed to labor under the misconception that if he smiled his face might crack. His expression grew even more dour than usual as Taylor walked into his office and closed the door.
“Sit down, Mrs. Robinson.” He nodded curtly to the straight-back chair across from his desk.
Taylor sat, her stomach fluttering in apprehension. Mr. Thorndike removed his wire-rimmed glasses and laid them aside. He folded his arms across the desk and sat staring at her for a long, tense moment, during which time her trepidation continued to mount. She wondered if this was how Nicholas Baker felt, being faced down by “Old Man Thorndike.”
“I suppose you’re wondering why I called you in here,” he finally said. His pale eyes narrowed. “I had a most disturbing phone call earlier today. Concerning you, Mrs. Robinson.”
“Really?” Taylor tried to keep her voice even, but she was beginning to have a glimmer of what this meeting was all about.
“Yes, I’m afraid so. It seems Dr. and Mrs. Westcott are extremely upset by the way you’ve been handling the situation with their daughter. Dr. Westcott went so far as to accuse you of harassing his wife and fabricating stories about his daughter.”
Taylor gasped and leapt to her feet. “That’s not true. All I did—”
“Sit down, Mrs. Robinson.”
Taylor sat and took a deep breath. “All I did was express my concern about Alisha’s behavior—”
“Which is exemplary, I understand from her teachers.”
“Well, yes…I mean, she’s never had a disciplinary problem. I’m talking about her shyness, her withdrawal from the other children. She doesn’t have any friends, and seems unable or unwilling to socialize with her classmates—”
“I understand her grades are perfect.” Thorndike slipped on his glasses and studied the open folder on his desk.
“She’s very smart,” Taylor agreed.
“Then I’m afraid I don’t understand. Exactly what is the problem?” He gazed at Taylor over the rims of his glasses.
“I just told you.” Taylor counted to ten under her breath, trying to keep firm control on her temper. Why could no one but her see what was happening to Alisha? Why did no one else seem to care?
Was she the only one who felt a connection with the child?
Her own thoughts stopped her. A connection with Alisha…
No, it wasn’t possible. Taylor knew it wasn’t possible. Alisha couldn’t be her child.
But the coincidences were startling to say the least. Alisha and the child Taylor gave birth to were the same age. Dr. Westcott had been Taylor’s physician and delivered her baby in his private clinic. The little girl’s coloring was similar to Taylor’s, and there was a connection between them. A bond Taylor had never been able to explain.
But perhaps most compelling of all was Lorraine Westcott’s own words. I’d just about given up hope of ever having a child. The doctors all said it was next to impossible and then…it happened. It was like a miracle…
Stop it! Taylor ordered herself. She couldn’t afford to get carried away by her thoughts. Dillon had told her more than once she had to be realistic. She couldn’t allow herself to get caught up in the fantasy. It was too dangerous.
With an effort, she reined in her thoughts and tried to concentrate on what Mr. Thorndike was saying.
He removed his glasses again and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. “Alisha’s grades are perfect and her behavior in the classroom is above reproach. I’m afraid I have to agree with Dr. Westcott. The problem here seems to lie with you, Mrs. Robinson.”
Taylor stared at him for a long moment, unable to believe what she was hearing. Finally she said, “Are you asking me to apologize to the Westcotts?”
“I’m afraid it’s a little too late for that,” he said with an ominous sigh. “The Westcotts are removing their daughter from Claymore. Dr. Westcott suggested there might even be legal ramifications if your…persistence doesn’t cease.”
“Legal ramifications?! You mean he’s threatening to sue? Of all the nerve! He’s the one in the wrong here. Not me.”
Mr. Thorndike seemed unmoved by her anger. He let her vent and then said disdainfully, “Are you quite finished?”
No, she wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot. If Elliot Westcott thought he could get rid of her with his threats, he was in for a rude awakening. Even if Alisha was nothing more to Taylor than her student, Taylor had an obligation to the child. She had to make sure Alisha was in a safe, wholesome environment.
“Under the circumstances,” Mr. Thorndike was saying, “I’m sure you can appreciate why I asked to see you this afternoon. Claymore simply cannot afford the kind of publicity a lawsuit would generate. Do you understand what I’m saying, Mrs. Robinson?”
“I’m not sure I do. Are you asking me to leave Claymore?” Taylor’s heart sank to the bottom of her stomach as she said the words. The students she worked with meant everything to her. The thought of never seeing them again was almost more than she could bear.
“I’m not asking for your resignation,” Thorndike said, but before Taylor could draw a relieved breath, he added, “Yet. Alisha will be leaving Claymore at the end of the term. You will have no further contact with her or with her parents. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly.” Taylor stood. “Is that all?”
“For the moment.”
As Taylor exited Thorndike’s office, her thoughts were still on Alisha and the bond they shared. Would the little girl understand why she was being taken out of school? Would she blame Taylor?
The thought was unsettling. Alisha had obviously never had anyone she could count on and now, at least in her eyes, Taylor would be letting her down, too.
Taylor’s eyes filled with tears, her heart with longing as she pictured that sad, sweet little face. How cou
ld anyone not want the best for a child like that? If she were Taylor’s…
Alisha is not your daughter, she told herself firmly as she headed back to her office. But even as she tried to shove the notion aside, she couldn’t quite dispel the image of soft, blond hair and haunted blue eyes.
THE MINUTE Taylor opened the door that night, Dillon knew something had happened. Her eyes were puffy and her nose was red. Taylor had never been a very subtle crier.
“What’s wrong?” He walked passed her into the living room.
“It’s Alisha Westcott. She’s…” Taylor seemed to wrestle with her emotions for a moment. “Dr. Westcott is taking her out of Claymore. Because of me.”
“How did this come about?”
“He called the school and told Mr. Thorndike that I was making up stories about Alisha and harassing him and his wife. He threatened to sue the school if I didn’t stop.” She put her hand to her temple. “I can’t stand to think what this will do to Alisha.”
Dillon stared down at her. “This is not your fault. You know that, right?”
“I was just trying to help, but Alisha won’t understand that. She’ll think I let her down, that I don’t care about her. She won’t have anyone to turn to.” Taylor’s eyes flooded with tears again, and before Dillon realized what was happening, he pulled her into his arms. She resisted but only for a second. Then he felt her body relax against him.
“Do you always tear yourself up this way over your students?” he asked softly.
She nodded miserably against his shoulder. “I know I shouldn’t. I need to develop a more professional attitude, like Dr. Westcott or Mr. Thorndike, but—”
God forbid, Dillon thought. She should never be like anyone but herself. She was Taylor.
His Taylor.
Dillon tried to banish the unwelcome thought from his mind, but there it was. His Taylor. He’d always thought of her that way, even during the bad times. Even after she was married to another man.
That’s why the image of her in Brad Robinson’s arms had nearly killed him.
Dillon’s hand found her hair and smoothed down the silky tresses. He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of her, loving the feel of her. The idea of her.
Amanda Stevens Bestseller Collection: Stranger In Paradise/A Baby's Cry Page 36
