This Little Baby

by Joyce Sullivan

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Excerpt

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Other Books by

  Title Page

  Dedication

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Copyright

  She had to stay focused

  Paulina put a hand up to Gil’s massive chest, feeling the powerful surge of his heartbeat and the depth of his love for the baby, which was like an aura radiating from his heart. She needed to be strong for Gil and not be rattled by the anxiety spiking through her or the compelling desire to stop thinking and just react to the situation by holding him in her arms, reassuring him that everything would by okay. Logic would find the little boy. She, a P.I. who specialized in finding missing children, knew that better than anybody. She couldn’t be sidetracked.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Joyce credits her lawyer mother with instilling in her a love of reading and writing—and a fascination for solving mysteries. She has a bachelor’s degree in criminal justice and worked several years as a private investigator before turning her hand to writing romantic suspense. A transplanted American, Joyce makes her home in Aylmer, Quebec, with her handsome French-Canadian husband and two casebook-toting kid detectives.

  Books by Joyce Sullivan

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  This Little Baby

  Joyce Sullivan

  In loving memory of Anna Michelle Sullivan and the joy her short life and sweet smiles gave her family.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I’m grateful to the following people for helping me turn an idea into a credible story Any mistakes are my own

  Mark Batten-Carew, Software Architect, Entrust, Supermtendent Gary Forbes, Kelowna R C M P, Sergeant Tyrus Cameron, Ottawa-Carleton Pohce; Detective Constable Mike Faulds, Ministry of Sohcitor General, Susan Pranschke, Children’s Ard Society; Lawyers Robert Lewis and Glenn Kealy; T Lorrame Vassalo, Cnminologist, Ken Blackburn, 3rd Dan Black belt, Tae E. Lee, Tae Kwon Do, Paul V Polishuk, M D.; Andy Awada, Performance Mazda, Barry Smith, Southbank Dodge Chrysler. Lewis Ersen, Jean Tremblay, Gilles David, Ed Sullivan, and Joan Kilby

  Special thanks to Elizabeth Batten-Carew.

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Paulina Stewart—Reuniting stolen children with their parents made her happy…and kept her single. But she wouldn’t have traded her job for anything in the world.

  Gil Boyer—Paulina was his only hope of finding his infant nephew. But Gil wanted more than Paulina could give.

  Ted Boyer—He died before he could give his son the life he deserved.

  Cindy D’Angelo—Life never worked out the way she planned.

  Mikey Boyer—Five-month-old baby…missing.

  Francine Loiselle—She saw a lot of people come and go from Joe’s Diner…and she dished up advice along with the food.

  Edison Tweedie—What had this salesman said to Cindy?

  Jean-Luc Deveau—He had his own plans for Cindy.

  Vern Newcombe—An honest lawyer?

  Lydia Kosak—Did she hold the key to Jean-Luc’s identity?

  Elva Madre—A counselor or a lawbreaker?

  Prologue

  Am I doing the right thing? The question rattled around in Cindy D’Angelo’s head like a marble avoiding capture on a game board. She clutched the mug of black coffee firmly in her fingers and gazed down at her slumbering five-month-old son, Mikey. He’d fallen asleep in his stroller during the ten-minute walk through the Byward Market to Joe’s Diner. His plump little arms framed his head as though he’d drifted off combing his wispy blond curls. He resembled a shining golden bee in his yellow-striped terry sleeper.

  He sighed softly in his sleep and a spasm of longing started deep in Cindy’s heart and shuddered through her. Her coffee splashed onto the gray-flecked Formica tabletop and she mopped it up with a paper napkin, her fingers trembling. Mikey really was a good baby. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t sleep through the night yet. She just wasn’t a good mother.

  Cindy pressed her hands over her ears to block Out the clink of plates and cutlery that sounded like her mother’s jarring screech telling Cindy she was bad for getting pregnant. She was bad for cheating on Ted…and she was bad for wanting to live a little with Jean-Luc.

  How had things gotten so confusing? Her mind reeled as she fought against a dizzying bout of fatigue. She hadn’t slept much since Ted’s death. There were too many decisions being forced on her. Too many other voices in her head talking all at once: Ted’s…Gil’s…Jean-Luc’s…Elva’s…Cindy just wanted to be free of the responsibility.

  She reached down and tweaked Mikey’s terry-covered toe. She wished he’d open his eyes, which were the same milky blue as her own. She wanted them to be together—today of all days.

  Mikey made sucking noises and slumbered on. Cindy felt the tears spring to her eyes, clouding her vision. What was she going to do?

  “That’s a beautiful baby you have there, ma’am,” a man said, stopping at her booth to admire Mikey. “You’re right lucky.”

  Cindy nodded miserably, feeling the tears slide down her face. She hid them in shame. She’d felt lucky when Mikey was born and Ted had been so full of promises. Now she felt dispirited. How did she know whose promises to believe?

  He touched her shoulder, his hand gentle and comforting. “Here now, what’s this? You look like you could use a friend.”

  Cindy looked at him through the veil of her straggling bangs. His lined features suggested he’d endured a hardship or two, but his hazel eyes were kind and she felt reassured by the silver cross dangling at the open neck of his short-sleeved shirt. Maybe it would help to confide in a stranger. For the first time in over a month, Cindy felt a stabilizing calmness come over her as the man sat down and gestured for Francine to bring two more coffees.

  THREE HOURS LATER…that silver cross was the last image in Cindy’s mind as the life was strangled out of her.

  Chapter One

  Paulina Stewart pegged Gil Boyer for a man with a guilty conscience the second he strode into her office. She could see it in the anxious glint in his dark blue eyes and the tense ridge of his massive shoulders as he offered her his hand.

  Guilty and handsome, she amended quickly, noting the lustrous gleam to his thick, dark hair and the chiseled planes of his face as she rescued her hand from his bone-crushing grip. The guy had the stride and muscular definition of a football player or a weight lifter. Judging by the bump in an otherwise perfect Roman nose, Paulina bet on football.

  “Have a seat and tell me what I can do for you, Mr. Boyer,” she directed, sitting down so she wouldn’t feel quite so overwhelmed by the size of him. She picked up the gold pen her father had given her for a good luck charm and pulled a yellow legal pad from among the clutter of missing-children files on her desktop to make notes.

  Somehow he managed to fold all that tense muscle and barely co
ntrolled anxiety into her standard-issue office chair. His gaze locked on her and Paulina felt a flicker of unfamiliar uncertainty deep in her belly. For some reason, she sat up straighter.

  “I want you to find my sister-in-law, Cindy D’Angelo, and my nephew, Mikey Boyer,” he said forcefully. “I think she ran off with my nephew sometime last week.”

  Paulina raised her eyebrows, growing steadily more intrigued. She’d seen all different types come into her office, but no one with quite his puissance. “Your sister-in-law?”

  “Well, technically she and Ted weren’t really married—only common-law.”

  “Are you hiring me for your brother, then?”

  A storm front of pain froze his features, making her almost regret the question.

  “No. You don’t understand.” He flexed the fingers of his right hand, then curled them into a tight fist. “My brother died six weeks ago in a hit-and-run accident.” His words came out in a rush, low and clipped, the forcefulness ebbing for a moment, then resurging. “I want to find Cindy because I’m worried about her and the baby. Mikey’s only five months old. Since Ted’s death I’ve been going to their apartment once a week to see how they’re doing and drop off some money. You know, see if there’s anything I can do to help. She seems kind of lost—” He paused, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he struggled to control his emotions.

  Paulina had no doubt Mr. Boyer was feeling somewhat lost, as well. Her heart went out to him, stirred by memories of her own loss. “I’m sorry about your brother,” she said softly, thinking of her father. “This must be a very painful time for you.”

  He nodded faintly, as though not wanting to acknowledge it. “Um, anyway, I dropped by last Thursday and she wasn’t home. I’ve tried calling, but she doesn’t answer.”

  Paulina picked up her phone. “What’s Cindy’s number?” She punched in the number he told her and glanced back at him again, aware that his blue measuring gaze had never left her. Her pulse gave a sudden leap at the base of her throat and fluttered down to settle in her abdomen. Funny, she was five foot seven in her stocking feet, but he made her feel petite and undeniably feminine. No doubt he had the same effect on a lot of women. She turned slightly in her chair, shielding herself from his scrutiny as she cradled the receiver against her ear. She hung up after the seventh ring. “Maybe Cindy wanted to get away for a few days…” she suggested.

  “I thought of that, but I think she would have told me. Our Thursday night thing is pretty regular. I take her and Mikey out to dinner, then I stay with Mikey while Cindy goes out for a few hours.” His forearms braced against the chair’s armrests as he laced his fingers in his lap.

  Paulina wondered why his strong, square-tipped fingers trembled. She waited for him to tell her more.

  “I called Cindy on Monday to confirm and she said we were on for Thursday night.” He drew a ragged breath. The muscles in his arms contracted rigidly. “I can understand she might have decided to change her plans and blow me off, but she wouldn’t have blown off the support checks I’ve been bringing to buy groceries and formula for Mikey. After Ted’s funeral, I told her I’d take over paying child support for Mikey so she wouldn’t have to worry about anything.”

  Paulina nodded thoughtfully, hiding her surprise and burgeoning respect as she jotted down the pertinent details. An uncle who wanted to pay child support; that was a new one for her files. She’d like to put Mr. Boyer in front of a group of deadbeat dads to lecture about responsibility. “Have you tried contacting her family?”

  “She doesn’t have any. Ted told me she’s been on her own since she was sixteen.”

  “What about her friends?”

  He shifted awkwardly, his massive thighs spreading. The steel-framed chair creaked in protest. “She’s talked about some mothers she met at the drop-in program she takes Mikey to, but I don’t know their names. Cindy’s kind of a loner. She and Ted had that in common. They had each other—and Mikey. That’s why I’m worried she’s freaked out and gone off somewhere on her own.”

  And if she was reading him right, Paulina suspected he probably felt guilty he hadn’t done enough for Cindy.

  Shadows of anxiety turned the deep blue of his eyes to indigo. “Can you help me find her, Ms. Stewart?”

  “I can try. I’ll require a five hundred dollar retainer before I get started. I charge sixty-five an hour, plus expenses.”

  “No problem.” He pulled a checkbook from the back pocket of his jeans and started writing out a check. “What do we do first?”

  Paulina chose to ignore his use of the plural “we.” She issued a receipt for the retainer and passed him some standard locate forms and a client-information sheet to fill out. “You give me all the personal data you have on Cindy. I’ll get back to you as soon as I have something solid to report”

  Mr. Boyer put down his pen. “That’s not good enough,” he said quietly and firmly. “I want to help with the investigation.”

  The stubborn insistence in his words and the sudden poised watchfulness in his massive body—like a bull preparing to charge—warned Paulina she had to handle the situation delicately. Why did people think hiring a P.I. was like buying a ticket to a murder-mystery dinner theater? You shell out a few bucks in exchange for the chance to play detective. She smiled reassuringly. “I appreciate your offer, Mr. Boyer, but really, the only assistance I require from you is the information in these forms. If I need more information, I’ll contact you.”

  His dark brows drew together ominously. “I insist. Cindy’s in a fragile emotional state. I don’t want her frightened by an overeager private investigator.”

  And he thought he was a calming influence? Granted, the sheer size of him, accompanied by one of those frowns, could silence a roomful of people awfully fast. With practised skill, Paulina kept her smile from fading. “I hardly think I’m the type of person who would frighten anyone. And if I may speak plainly, your presence would only be a hindrance.”

  He returned her smile just as quickly, just as falsely, his tone cordial and businesslike, “I believe that’s for me to decide. I am, after all, paying for your services.”

  “My point exactly, Mr. Boyer. You’re paying me for my services—you’re not paying me to drag you along.” She glanced at his stonewashed denim jeans, his modestly priced blue knit shirt and Brooks running shoes. “If you want that privilege, it’ll cost you double. One thirty an hour. Your choice.”

  A light gleamed in his eyes as their gazes locked again. Paulina felt the challenge from that light stoke her insides.

  “All right, Ms. Stewart. Here’s my counteroffer—I’ll pay you one fifty an hour. The extra twenty is to compensate you for calling me Gil.” His smile was sheer devilry.

  She’d underestimated him and he was enjoying it.

  For a moment, she considered showing him to the door. As much as she’d enjoy the experience, she decided it would be foolish. The case was a fairly straightforward locate, and “Gil’s” extra fees would pay for a significant amount of gratis work she did for parents who couldn’t afford to search for their missing children. There was one case in particular: a fourteen-year-old boy named Bryan Watson, whose mother hadn’t seen him since he was two years old.

  Paulina had recently discovered the father was living in Australia, but she didn’t know which state—yet. Someday soon Bryan’s picture was going to join the other children’s pictures mounted on her Found display, which took up one wall of her office. What was a little baby-sitting compared to Brenda’s joy at seeing her son again?

  Paulina stuck her hand across the table. “You have a deal, Gil.”

  “I knew we could come to a mutually satisfactory arrangement.” His large hand engulfed hers, his touch so unexpectedly gentle this time she felt a tickle of unease at the nape of her neck.

  She struggled to conceal her discomfiture. He was only a client. She was selling her time, not her integrity. There was no reason to feel as though she’d sold her soul to the devil.

 
; While Gil filled out forms, Paulina studied photos he’d brought of Cindy and Mikey. Cindy looked young and vulnerable. She wore her thin blond hair in a shoulder-length style with pouffed bangs achieved through teasing and hairspray. She played up her pale blue eyes with black mascara and blue eyeliner. Her bio information said she was twenty-two, five years younger than Paulina. Mikey was a butterball. Plump, dimpled and blue-eyed, with a soft crown of golden down.

  Paulina started reading the forms and making notes. A glance at the client credit information section told her Gil owned a computer consulting firm and lived in Kanata, just west of Ottawa. Interesting. But then, she’d already begun to suspect a deceptively smart man dwelled in that powerhouse of a body.

  Still, for someone who specialized in information processing, he didn’t know diddly about his sister-in-law. Not even the names of her parents. She skimmed over the blank spaces on the forms to what little he knew: Cindy’s former place of work and her address. Her apartment was located in the Byward Market on the two hundred block of St. Patrick Street. It was the obvious place to start. They could walk over. She grabbed her purse and keys and informed Andrea, an intern student who worked for her part-time, that she was headed out for a while.

  When they reached the street, Gil insisted they take his black Mazda Precidia.

  “It’ll be faster to walk,” she assured him in case he was worried about his hundred and fifty dollar an hour bargain.

  “You haven’t seen the way I drive.”

  It wasn’t worth arguing about. The meter was running and it was his nickel. Paulina only hoped as she settled into the passenger seat that she wouldn’t have to battle him every step of the investigation. She was beginning to see why Cindy might have left for a few days without informing her brother-in-law. Gil probably would have had something to say about her travel plans.