Those Baby Blues

by Sheridon Smythe

  His mouth was so incredibly exciting, an erotic foreplay in a class of its own. She ran her tongue over his teeth, onto his bottom lip, tasting him, feeling the smooth, moist texture of his lip, gasping when he caught her wandering tongue and began to suck, mimicking the act of love.

  Two seconds later Hadleigh pulled free, breathing hard. She gazed into his desire-fogged eyes, her arms clasped tightly around his neck, and said hoarsely, “We'll eat later."

  His husky chuckle got smothered by another soul-eating, passionate kiss. Meanwhile, Hadleigh got busy with the buttons on his jeans, quickly freeing his magnificent erection so that she could close her hands around him.

  He was hot and throbbing.

  She was hot and throbbing, too. For him. Only for him.

  Hadleigh stroked him, her fingers skimming over now-familiar territory. She laughed softly into his mouth when he finally captured her teasing hands and, with a low warning growl, transferred them to his chest.

  Where she proceeded to remove his shirt, breaking free of his mouth long enough to slip it over his head.

  "No fair,” he grumbled, bending his head to nip at her nipples through her dress. With a growl of frustration, he lifted the dress over her head and tossed it over his shoulder.

  A faint gleam of sanity intruded into Hadleigh's desire-fogged mind. “Shouldn't we—"

  "The doors are locked,” he breathed, lifting his head from her breast long enough to scorch her with a glance. “Nobody will bother us for another two or three hours. I promise. Besides,” he added, his hands slipping around to cup her panty-clad bottom, “I think this stool is just the right height."

  Before Hadleigh could absorb his meaning, he lifted her from the stool and slipped her panties down over her hips, stripping them from her legs. Dazed, she looked down, staring at the proud thrust of his erection, remembering every intimate detail of the pleasure it had brought her the night before.

  Pleasure she wanted to feel again.

  She continued to watch, mesmerized, as he nudged her legs wider and cupped her buttocks, joining their bodies in one powerful thrust.

  He moaned and dropped his head to her shoulder, holding himself still, buried deep inside of her. Trembling against her.

  Hadleigh whimpered, embarrassed by her hair-trigger reaction to Treet. She could feel herself pulsing around his thick length; feel the incredible waves beating against the walls of her resistance. No elaborate foreplay for her—she'd never make it.

  Or maybe she would ... several times over.

  "Let it go, baby. Just let it go.” He began to move, standing before her, plunging into her, his voice ragged and thick and perfectly aware of her sensual battle. “I've got you. Just let it go."

  "But I don't want to—” Hadleigh bit the inside of her jaw, her arms tightening around his neck as the sensational waves ignored her resistance and picked her up, rushing her out to sea.

  Treet didn't lie. He held her, continued to fan the flames with each sure, delicious stroke.

  And incredibly, as the waves receded, they began to build again.

  "Treet...?” Hadleigh moaned, hearing the sound and thinking, that's me. She shouldn't have been surprised, but she was. Frantically, she clutched him, kissed his mouth, his neck, his jaw, his mouth again.

  Finally, her hands dropped to his butt. She grabbed each steel bun and urged him harder, faster, beyond embarrassment, beyond rational thought.

  There was just her, and Treet, fiercely loving each other.

  "Only you,” Treet ground out, holding her face steady and staring into her wide, shell-shocked eyes as the force of his seed sent her over the edge with him—again. “Only you."

  "Only you,” she choked out, and knew that she spoke the truth.

  * * * *

  Taking a shower with Hadleigh was another awesome experience, Treet discovered as he stepped from the steamy bathroom into the cooler air of his bedroom. Before closing the door, he glanced back, watching the outline of Hadleigh's curvy figure through the frosty glass shower doors as she finished rinsing the shampoo from her hair.

  They'd made love against the shower wall as the warm shower spray pelted their slick bodies, her moans mingling with his own, and her cries of pleasure raw and uninhibited. She was truly amazing. Incredible. The most giving, generous lover he'd ever had.

  And she touched him in a way no other woman had ever done—touched his heart, more deeply, more profoundly, than he'd ever thought possible.

  When they finally got around to eating, Treet decided, reluctantly pulling the door shut, he was going to remind her of the numerous things they had in common, list everything they had going for them, paint a vivid, detailed picture of what their life could be like together.

  Then he was going to ask her to marry him.

  She would say yes ... wouldn't she? How could she deny the significance of what they had?

  "Boss..."

  Treet inhaled sharply and spun around.

  Brutal stood in the bedroom doorway. As usual, his face was impassive, but his very presence alarmed Treet. Treet knew that Brutal would never interrupt him during a private moment unless it was important. Belatedly, Treet remembered the intrusive, incessant ringing of the phone earlier.

  He'd steadfastly ignored it, and had convinced Hadleigh to do the same.

  "I had to use my key to let myself in,” Brutal said, his words both an explanation and an apology. The bodyguard took a deep breath, and the action sent a cold chill down Treet's spine.

  "What is it?” Treet demanded, glancing back at the closed bathroom door.

  "It's Sam, boss. We lost her."

  "Excuse me?"

  Brutal's gaze slid to the floor, then back to Treet's face. “One minute she was there, and the next she was gone. I don't know what happened, boss.” At his side, his massive hands clenched, the only outward sign that he was upset. “I tried to call—"

  "How long?” Treet croaked, grabbing his clothes from the bed, his mind racing in a hundred different directions as he hastily dressed.

  "About an hour. We were watching the movie—"

  Behind Treet, the bathroom door opened.

  "Treet,” Hadleigh said, appearing in the doorway wrapped in a towel, her voice soft and sexy. “I thought I heard you talking to someone.” When she saw Brutal, her gaze widened. She clutched the towel tighter. “Treet, what's going on? What's Brutal doing here ... in your bedroom?"

  There was no gentle way to say it, Treet thought. “Sam's disappeared."

  "Sam's dis—what do you mean, disappeared?" Her voice rose shrilly. “A child just doesn't disappear!"

  "Get dressed,” Treet instructed her grimly. To Brutal, he said, “Wait in the van. We'll be out in a minute.” As Brutal started to leave, Treet added, “I'll drive."

  Hadleigh grabbed his arm, her face pale, her lips trembling. “Treet, the town's not that big. Sam's probably hiding, thinking it's a game.” Her voice wobbled, and her big green eyes filled with tears.

  Treet swallowed hard, unable to look away from the stark terror he saw building there.

  "Little girls just don't disappear ... unless—"

  He put a finger to her soft, trembling lips and whispered, “Don't say it. Don't even think it. It's probably just like you said. Sam is hiding somewhere. We'll find her."

  In the end, he had to help her get dressed. She was shaking so badly that he nearly had to carry her to the van. God, he wasn't far from coming apart himself!

  As he drove like a madman to town, his mind continued to torture him with horrifying images of Sam lost and crying, or worse, kidnapped by a sadistic baby killer, or some greedy son-of-a-bitch after ransom money.

  It happened, he knew, especially to celebrities.

  Dear God, she was only four years old!

  He hit the steering wheel with his fist, causing the van to swerve.

  "Boss,” Brutal said from the seat behind him, “We won't do Sam any good if you land us in the ditch."

 
; Treet glowered at him in the rear view mirror. “Where're Trudy and Caroline?"

  "Waiting at the police station."

  "Tell me again exactly what happened."

  Brutal was silent for a moment. Finally, he said, “We were watching the movie, all sittin’ together. Sam said she had to go to the bathroom, so Trudy went with her. While Sam was in the bathroom, Trudy decided to get popcorn—the concession stand was only a few feet away from the bathrooms. She said she waited and waited, and when Sam didn't come out, she went in to look for her. Then she came back to where I was, thinking Sam had gone back to her seat without her."

  "And Sam wasn't there.” Treet watched the speedometer climb to eighty, then ninety. He glanced at Hadleigh's set, pale face, glad to see that she had automatically buckled her seat belt.

  "It wasn't Trudy's fault,” Brutal said.

  Through gritted teeth, Treet snarled, “I didn't say that it was, but somebody's responsible.” To Treet's surprise, he felt Hadleigh's hand on his arm.

  "He's right, Treet. It isn't anyone's fault. Sam is, well, you know how Sam is. She probably gave Trudy the slip. She's done the same to me more times than I can count."

  Treet heard the audible sound of her swallowing before she continued.

  "But she wouldn't have carried the game this far. She would have gotten bored and revealed herself."

  The fingers on his arm tightened to a painful degree. Treet forced himself to concentrate on his driving. What he really wanted to do was pull the van to the side of the road and comfort Hadleigh, promise her that everything would be all right.

  But he was afraid he couldn't keep that promise.

  "Someone must have taken her."

  Hadleigh's blunt announcement echoed Treet's own wild thoughts. He wanted to scoff at her fears, but he couldn't. She was right; someone must have taken Sam, lured her from the restroom right beneath Trudy's nose.

  And since Treet had been seen in public with Sam by a lot of people—thanks to Super Dollar Mart's lingerie sale—it could be anyone that knew him, or of him.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Hadleigh believed she knew the meaning of fear.

  When she found out that Samantha wasn't her biological daughter and that she might have to give her up, she'd felt plenty of that same gut-churning emotion.

  But it was nothing compared to what she felt now, knowing Samantha was out there somewhere all alone. What she felt now could only be described as raw terror.

  Samantha was lost. Gone. Disappeared.

  Or taken.

  The last thought was harder to think about, because for Hadleigh, it was the most terrifying of them all.

  So she tried not to think about it.

  Up ahead, she saw the twinkling lights of Burlington. She flung out her hand to brace herself against the dash as Treet rounded a curve in the road. The disbelief that had numbed her brain from the moment Treet told her that Sam was missing finally began to clear, allowing her to once again think rationally.

  The sick, rolling sensation in her belly remained.

  "Brutal, did you ask the cinema manager to turn on the lights in the auditorium?” Hadleigh asked as they passed the sign welcoming them to Burlington.

  "Yes. We had everyone looking under their seats."

  "And the men's room?"

  "I checked it myself."

  Hadleigh bit her lip until she tasted blood. “What about other rooms? The manager's office? Supply room? Projection room?"

  "We searched every nook and cranny."

  Her eyes burned, but she determinedly blinked until they cleared. Crying wouldn't help Sam. Cold, logical thinking would. “Treet, have you had any threats against you lately? Any crazed fans sending you letters, hanging around—"

  "Boss—"

  "No.” Treet's voice was flat. “I haven't had any threats in a long time, and besides, we're the only ones that know the truth about my connection with Samantha."

  When Hadleigh realized Treet had nothing else to add, she twisted around to look at Brutal. “What were you going to say?"

  Brutal stared back at her for a long moment. From the corner of her eye, Hadleigh saw Treet shake his head.

  The movement was slight, barely noticeable, but it was a definite warning meant for Brutal. She was suddenly very certain that Treet was hiding something, and that Brutal had been on the verge of blurting it out.

  Before she could confront Treet with her suspicion, they arrived at the Burlington police station. Treet and Brutal jumped out of the van, leaving her no choice but to follow suit.

  Once inside the building, a uniformed policeman immediately led them to the sheriff's office. Caroline caught sight of Treet and came racing toward him, her little face tear-stained and solemn.

  "Daddy, we can't find Sam,” she said, winding her arms around Treet's neck as he lifted her.

  "I know, sweetheart, but we'll find her."

  Sheriff Striker, whom Hadleigh remembered from the Super Dollar Mart incident, greeted her warmly. Of medium height, with gentle brown eyes and a quiet, soothing voice, he reminded her more of a minister than a lawman.

  "Miss Charmaine.” Sheriff Striker nodded. “Nice to see you again, although I don't like the circumstances. Don't like them one bit."

  Hadleigh braced herself; the sheriff's low, sympathetic voice made her want to weep. “Sheriff,” she said, her voice thick and unsteady. “I don't like it either.” She swallowed. “Have ... have you heard anything?"

  "Sorry to say I haven't, ma'am. We've got every man on the force out swarming the streets with flood lights and asking questions, but so far nothing."

  The sheriff led them into the office and shut the door, indicating Hadleigh take a seat next to Trudy. It was obvious that Trudy had been crying; her face was red and blotchy, her eyes swollen. Hadleigh reached out and took the woman's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze just as Treet's hands closed over her own shoulders from behind and did the same. Caroline had moved to stand next to Brutal.

  Treet's touch, meant to comfort and support, was a nasty reminder of what she had been doing when her child came up missing. If she hadn't fallen for Treet ... if she hadn't lusted after him, then Sam would be at the ranch right now, playing with the kittens or looking for that illusive, monstrous turtle.

  The sheriff directed everyone's attention. “Now, let's get down to business.” Sheriff striker settled into a chair behind his desk, picked up a pencil, and began to scribble on a notepad. “According to the bodyguard and the nanny, Samantha was last seen going into the restrooms at the movie house. She never came out, or if she did, nobody saw her."

  Trudy muffled a sob into her handkerchief, and Brutal nodded. Hadleigh closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. She prayed that she wouldn't be sick.

  "I don't think she ... Sam would have left the movie house,” Hadleigh told him. “Not on her own."

  Sheriff Striker's eyebrows met in the middle. “So you believe that someone took her?"

  Hadleigh's heart knocked against her ribs. She had to force the words past her constricted throat. Saying them would make them real. “Yes, I think someone took her."

  "Have any idea who?” Striker asked.

  Before Hadleigh could respond, Caroline let go of Brutal's hand and approached the desk. “Maybe it was that woman with the candy. She said we could have all we wanted."

  "Oh, God!” Hadleigh gasped. She covered her mouth as the sheriff motioned for her to be quiet. She could feel the tension in Treet's fingers where they gripped her shoulders.

  "Good thinking, Caroline,” Striker said, flashing her an encouraging smile. “Where did you see this woman?"

  "At the movies."

  "Can you remember anything else about her?"

  Caroline shook her head, looking pensive. “She was sitting behind us, so I couldn't see her very good."

  "Thank you, Caroline. You're a big, brave little girl."

  There was a s
peculative silence for a moment, and then Treet let go of Hadleigh's shoulders and stepped forward. “Sheriff, I think there's something you ne—"

  The jarring ring of the sheriff's desk phone interrupted Treet. Sheriff Striker snatched it up. “Sheriff Striker here.” He listened for a second, then frowned. “Yes, Bunny, put the call through.” He covered the mouth piece and explained, “Bunny says some kid dialed 911 from a cell phone. Probably a prank call, but I don't want to miss anything."

  Hadleigh's heart beat picked up speed. Samantha knew how to dial 911. She also knew her home address and phone number. It would be incredible luck, but—

  "Hi, young lady. This is Sheriff Striker. Can I get your name?"

  Everyone in the room seemed to stop breathing as they strained to hear the other end of the conversation. It was impossible, of course. Nothing left to do but to try and read Sheriff Striker's expression.

  Sheriff Striker's eyebrows rose. He looked straight at Hadleigh. “You say you're Samantha Charmaine?"

  "Sam!” Hadleigh leaped from the chair and reached for the phone in the sheriff's hand. Her voice shook. “Let me talk to her, please!"

  The sheriff held up a stalling hand, motioning her to sit down. When she was seated again, he punched the speaker button on the phone, then gently replaced the receiver. He leaned over and spoke into the mic. “Honey, can you tell me where you are so your mother can come and get you?"

  Sam's voice came erratically through the static. “I don't know."

  "It's Sam!” Hadleigh cried, not daring to believe it until she heard her daughter's voice.

  "Mommy?"

  "Sam? Can you hear me?” Hadleigh leaned forward. “Sam, what happened to you? Where are you? Did—did someone force you to go with them?” The sheriff shot her an approving look and motioned for her to continue. Hadleigh placed a hand to her trembling belly. “Sam, listen very carefully to Mommy. Are you alone right now?"

  "Yes, Mommy. That woman went to clean her dress off.” There was a brief pause, a lot of static, and then Sam said, “I spilled my Coke on her on an accident. She got mad."

  "Sam, honey, did this woman say her name?"

  "She said ... she said she was my real Mommy."

  "Oh, God.” Hadleigh stuffed a fist in her mouth. Behind her, Treet mumbled a few choice words.