Kitabı oku: «The Collingwood Heirs», sayfa 2
But this isn’t any baby, insinuated a doom-and-gloom voice in her mind that sounded remarkably like Mitch Halloran’s blunt-edged baritone. Her sunshiney daughter who loved to dance and sing and bake cookies was the Collingwood heir—the heir to one of the largest family fortunes in the United States.
Who was she kidding?
Stef stopped in the arched doorway to the alcove, overwhelmed by the battle she was up against. Keely, the delightful center of her universe, was pretending to feed toy plastic fruits to a doll. “Eat, baby, eat,” she chanted. She glanced up and saw Stef and her blue-green eyes rounded with empathy.
“Mommy—sad?”
Stef sank onto the floor and pulled Keely into her lap, committing to memory the tropical scent of her hair, the perfect peanut shape of her nose and the snug heaven-on-earth feel of her compact body. How could she bear losing this darling child? “Mommy’s very sad, Kee. But when I hold you everything’s better.”
To Stef’s dismay, Keely started to sing their “I love you” song. The tears Stef had been struggling to hold back burst out in a torrent.
She rocked Keely tightly in her arms. “I love you, too, baby. I love you, too.”
SHE WAS CRYING.
Mitch stiffened as his every muscle tried to deflect the sound of Stephanie Shelton’s anguished sobs. His stomach felt as if it were coated with hot tar. The only thing that made the situation bearable was the hope that she’d soon be reunited with her own lost child.
Mitch knew what a gift a mother like her would be to that child. Everything his own mother had never been.
He’d give Stef a few more minutes, then gently prod her into action. Time wasn’t on their side—there was no way of knowing when the kidnapper would again make contact with specific instructions for the ransom. For all they knew, whoever had switched Riana and Keely could have another plan in the works to switch them back.
Flexing the tight muscles in his shoulders, Mitch unclipped the cell phone from his belt and punched in The Guardian’s phone number.
“The Guardian,” G.D.’s militarily brusque voice said.
Mitch’s lips curled in wry humor. Uncomfortable with his new boss’s curt directive to address him as sir, he’d quickly dubbed The Guardian “G.D.,” which stood for goddamn. As in goddamn he couldn’t believe he’d handed in his gun and his badge because The Guardian had asked him for assistance with this case.
Mitch had wanted to be a detective since he was twelve, when he’d gone to live with his grandfather who worked as a janitor in the Parker Administration Building of the L.A.P.D.
On days when Paddy’s back had pained him from his shrapnel injury—a nasty souvenir from the Korean War—Mitch would come along to pick up wastebaskets and mop the floors in the Detective Headquarters Division. He’d never thought about not being a police detective. He’d thought he’d probably drag his last breath on the streets of L.A.—a fitting way to go for the life he’d chosen.
Mitch angled a surreptitious glance at Stef who was guiding Keely toward the bedrooms. His heart tightened at the paleness of her face and the moist path of tears on her cheek. For the first time in two years he had no doubt whatsoever that he was right where he was supposed to be.
He could almost hear Paddy telling him to keep soldiering on. It never gets any easier, son.
His chest filled with an echo of longing for the gruff man who’d given him the only home he’d ever known. Who’d given him clumsily wrapped Christmas presents and had taken him to Dodger games to celebrate his birthdays where he’d slipped Mitch sips of his beer. They were not the kind of memories that made sappy movies, but they were incredibly precious to a kid starved for attention.
Mitch realized his thoughts were drifting when G.D.’s voice rumbled, “Who’s calling?”
He snapped back into focus. “Operation Bassinet. It’s Halloran, G.D. I just spoke to Mrs. Shelton. She’s devastated, but she’s on board.”
Concern edged The Guardian’s tone. “Is Riana okay?”
“Right as rain. We should be back in the city tonight. By the way, the husband is dead. Two years ago. In a rock climbing accident. Think there’s anything fishy in that? It could be a coincidence, but whoever abducted Riana from the hospital knew how to rappel.”
When Mitch had accepted the job one day after the ransom demand had been received, The Guardian had apprised him of the details of Riana’s kidnapping. The suspect was a Caucasian male who’d sneaked into the maternity postpartum wing during visitor’s hours using a stolen visitor’s badge and a hospital identification bracelet similar to those given to the new dads. He’d hidden in an unoccupied room and zapped the nurse, who’d been returning Riana Collingwood to the nursery after a late night feeding, with a stun gun.
Within minutes the kidnapper had bound the nurse and made his escape with the baby through a hole he’d cut in the second floor window to circumvent the hospital’s state-of-the-art alarm system and the high-tech baby identification bracelets equipped with receivers.
By the time the staff realized the Collingwood heir had been stolen, the kidnapper had been long gone.
“I’ve already assigned some men to do a background check of the family. I’ll ask them to dig up what they can on the husband’s death. Brad Shelton would have been in a perfect position to switch the babies. If a man walked into a hospital carrying a baby, who’d question him if he walked out carrying one?”
“We’re on the same wavelength, G.D.”
“Will you be able to get the husband’s DNA sample?”
“I’m on it.”
“Excellent. We don’t want any doubts as to the identity of the child the kidnapper has. I’ll be waiting for you and Mrs. Shelton at the hotel.”
The Guardian disconnected the call, but not before Mitch heard the distinct cry of a baby in the background and the soothing murmur of a woman’s voice.
That was odd. He hooked his cell phone back onto his belt and went to check on Stef. Had The Guardian been with another client? Or did G.D. have a personal life?
G.D. was a man cloaked in mystery and Mitch was determined to at least learn his name. A man who didn’t know who he was working for was a fool of an employee.
He’d already had a buddy in L.A.P.D.’s Scientific Investigative Division lift G.D.’s fingerprints from the paper on which he’d written his ridiculously high offer to Mitch. But all he’d discovered was that The Guardian’s lily-white fingerprints weren’t on file. Figured.
Mitch walked down the hall and found Stef and Keely in the tiny master bedroom, which was crammed with a walnut double-bed, a matching chest of drawers and a sewing machine in a cabinet. Keely was petting scraps of orange fur on the floor near the sewing machine and calling them “kitty” while Stef rummaged through the closet.
Mitch took in the intriguing view of Stef’s jeans-clad bottom as she reached for the jumble of clothes, luggage, shopping bags and shoe boxes piled up on the closet shelf. “Careful,” he warned as Stef stood on her tiptoes and tugged on a shoe box.
Too late.
A landslide of shopping bags, sweaters and shoe boxes slid off the shelf in slow motion, raining down on her.
Keely giggled and clapped her hands. “Oopsie, doopsie, all fall down, Mommy!”
Stef rolled her eyes and Mitch heard the tears hovering in her voice. “It’s not supposed to all fall down on Mommy, Kee. Now we have a real mess on our hands.”
Shoulders hunched, Stef plucked a royal-blue ball cap from the debris field and held it out to him, her face flooded with color that made her seem even more vulnerable. Mitch was consciously aware he was treading into no man’s land, becoming too hypersensitive to her emotions. He gave himself a mental kick in the butt.
“Will this do? Brad wore it for company ball games.”
Careful to allow her some dignity, he kept his gaze averted from her moist eyes and examined the inner headband of the Office Outfitter’s cap. It was stained with sweat. “This’ll do.” He gestured at the mess on the closet floor. “Since you’ve already got your luggage out, pack a bag for you and your daughter.”
“Why?”
Mitch made the mistake of looking at her. Her green-gold eyes were as dangerous as a riptide and fringed with long sooty lashes. He was none too happy that he was making personal observations about the length of her eyelashes. He was too seasoned a cop to let himself get sucked in by a pair of pleading eyes. The anguish in Teresa Lopez’s eyes when he’d informed her that her granddaughter was dead would haunt him to his dying day.
Don’t think about Carmen or Theresa, he told himself. This is another case. Another chance to save a child.
Cold detachment firmed his voice. “You’re coming with me. Keely’s the Collingwood heir. You’re both under my protection until this is over.”
THE KIDNAPPER WAS CAREFUL to arrive after dark to avoid being seen. Aunt Helen and Uncle Fred’s farmhouse was set back from the road, but you couldn’t be too careful.
Aunt Helen answered the door, her worn face brightening into a smile. “Well, this is nice, two visits in a month. I was just washing up the dinner dishes. Let me cut you some cake. It’s chocolate with butter-pecan frosting. Emma put the pecans on all by herself.”
“Then I definitely want some. Where is she?”
“Helping Fred feed the rabbits out back.” Aunt Helen stopped in the dingy hallway papered with faded blue windmills and folded her gnarled fingers in prayer, her voice a fervent whisper. “Have you heard from him?”
“Sorry, but I got an e-mail from Emma’s mother’s sister. She was looking for her sister and didn’t know about Emma.”
“Did she offer to take her?”
“I didn’t ask in so many words, but I told her about Emma and offered to send a picture. I’m hoping once she sees her she’ll be open to the idea of looking after her.”
“That would be wonderful. I can’t understand how adults can just abandon their children and their responsibilities. Fred and I love her dearly but we won’t be able to take care of her forever. Fred’s getting more and more forgetful. Yesterday he forgot he’d turned the kettle on and nearly started a fire.”
The kidnapper made sympathetic noises. What Aunt Helen didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. Killing her son had been an unpleasant, but necessary precaution. And frankly, the world was better off without that shiftless SOB. “I’m sure he will turn up eventually. You know I’ll do whatever I can to help with Emma’s expenses. I’m just sorry I can’t come by more often.”
Aunt Helen shook her head. “We know you’re busy.” She made shooing motions toward the kitchen. “Now come sit down and tell me what’s going on in your life.”
The kidnapper winced, the question striking too close to home. Everything would work out according to plan as long as The Guardian cooperated with the ransom demand. “Didn’t you say something about cake?”
Aunt Helen cut a thick wedge of cake and served it on a chipped china plate.
The fork rattled as boots clomped up the back steps and the rear kitchen door burst open.
Emma, barely as tall as Uncle Fred’s knee, entered first in a navy-blue jacket, her blue eyes glowing beneath a dark fringe of bangs and her cheeks like polished apples. “Gamma, we’re ba-ack.”
“So you are, little duck. Take off your jacket and your boots,” Aunt Helen said with a smile, rising to help her. “And come say hello to your daddy’s cousin.”
“Quack-quack,” Emma sang back vociferously.
“That means hello,” Uncle Fred interpreted, shrugging out of his red-and-black plaid wool jacket and hanging it on a wooden peg near the door. The retired electrician looked thinner than ever, his pants held around his waist with a belt cinched small as a dog’s collar. Even his handshake felt feeble.
They sat around the table and talked while Aunt Helen fixed tea and Emma drew pictures on construction paper with stubby crayons.
When it was Emma’s bedtime, the kidnapper offered to read her a story. It was simple enough to snap a picture of her in her pajamas holding the front page of today’s edition of the New York Times.
Soon, the picture would come in very handy.
Chapter Two
Stef held Keely in her arms and stared mutinously at Mitch Halloran over the roof of the black luxury sedan as he stowed their luggage in the trunk. She was not ready for this. Night surrounded them with cold velvet. The stars were crystal-clear overhead.
Stef couldn’t bring herself to touch the door handle. It had been hard enough to pack clothes and toys for Keely and to allow Mitch to collect a DNA sample from their mouths with a swab. She did not want to get into this car and drive toward an uncertain future, which might not include the precious baby she held in her arms.
She couldn’t do it.
She had to do it. Another child needed her.
Mitch closed the trunk and stared back at her, not saying a word, but his Goliath expression said plenty.
She hated him, she really did. Hated how he loomed over the car—a golden malevolent griffin with sun-bleached hair. Hated how she noticed how endlessly broad his shoulders were and how she could feel his eyes silently reminding her that her flesh-and-blood child was spending yet another day without her real mommy.
That was the worst part of it. Nausea and anger churned in her at the heart-wrenching thought that she’d only known her real baby for a day. What if her real daughter was dead? Or would be killed once the ransom was paid. What if she never saw her again?
“Mommy?” Keely’s voice sounded pitifully small and tired in the darkness. “I don’t like that man. He makes you sad. I want my snuggie and my beddy-bye time.”
“Kee, that was rude. Mr. Halloran is a detective, which is kind of like a police officer, and he needs Mommy’s help. So we’re going to go with him and help him, okay? It’ll be fun. An adventure.”
Keely didn’t look convinced. Her brow wrinkled like a plump raisin. “No.”
Stef saw the white flash of Mitch Halloran’s patient smile in the darkness as he walked to the driver’s side door. He obviously knew better than to clash wills with an obstinate two-and-a-half-year-old. She smoothed the hair back from Keely’s forehead and kissed her frown away, her throat tightening with suppressed emotion. “Sometimes, Kee, we have to do things even when we don’t want to do them.” God, what an understatement! “I have snuggie and I’ll tuck it around you and we’ll have our beddy-bye time in the car.”
As she spoke, Stef opened the rear door of the car. The door handle felt cold in her grasp. “Okay, baby gorilla, into your car seat. I’ll sit right beside you.”
To her relief, Keely obeyed, though she moved at an excruciating turtle’s pace. Stef fastened her daughter into the car seat and covered her with her snuggie, the crocheted rainbow-pastel blanket that had been a gift from Brad’s former boss. Then she handed Keely her cup of milk with the leak-proof lid.
Stef was uncomfortably aware of Mitch Halloran’s unrelenting size filling the car, his scent commingling with the scents of leather and the sweet baby smell of Keely’s blanket. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so aware of a man’s presence. It had probably been her wedding day when she’d walked down the aisle and seen Brad waiting for her at the front of the church.
Brad. He’d been handsome, engaging and unreliable.
Funny how she’d fooled herself into thinking he’d always be there for her. The fact that he was estranged from his parents, who hadn’t been invited to their wedding, should have been her first clue that family wasn’t at the top of Brad’s priority list. She wouldn’t be going through this nightmare if he’d stayed overnight in the hospital with them. But he’d had that job interview the next morning, which he’d blown anyway by arriving late.
Guilt struck her. It wasn’t Brad’s fault that someone had stolen their baby.
Mitch looped an arm across the back of the front passenger seat, his face a study of intense sharp angles as he backed the car out of the driveway—away from the home she’d bought with the money from Brad’s life insurance policy. At least he’d been responsible enough to buy life insurance when Stef had discovered she was pregnant.
Angry tears blurred her vision. She licked her dry lips as Mitch put the car in drive and her house receded from view. Next time she came home, would Keely be with her?
She straightened, lightly stroking Keely’s hair. She had to think positively. As soon as her real daughter was safely returned, she’d hire a lawyer and fight for custody of Keely, even if she had to sell her house and everything she owned to pay the legal fees.
Were there even any Collingwood family members who’d fight for custody of Keely? The Collingwood murders had been all over the news—speculation running rampant on the talk shows over who would get the money because there were no other living relatives except Lexi’s greedy sister, Annette York. Annette was probably going to get the death penalty for killing her sister and brother-in-law.
Stef cleared her throat and glared at the back of Mitch’s head. “Where are we going?” she asked.
His face was reflected in the rearview mirror. He drove the way the cops on those reality TV shows drove, both hands on the wheel, his body language vigilant as if he expected trouble to come leaping out of the bushes.
Oh, God. Did he?
Visions of car-jackings raced through her mind. She suddenly realized that if Keely really was the lost Collingwood heir, she’d stand to inherit a fortune, which was why she’d been kidnapped in the first place. Her inheritance would make her vulnerable all of her life.
“We’re going to New York City,” Mitch said, his baritone bursting Stef’s panicky realization that he hadn’t exaggerated when he’d said Keely needed protection. “The Foundation has offices there. My boss has reserved a suite at a hotel. He’ll meet us there.”
“Who’s your boss? Is he related to the Collingwoods?”
“He calls himself The Guardian.”
Stef wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. “Excuse me?”
“He’s a private security consultant who keeps his identity under wraps to protect his clientele. Ross Collingwood hired him after Riana was kidnapped. He was the one who nailed Annette York for killing Ross and Lexi Collingwood.” Mitch’s voice held deference and respect. “When I was with the L.A.P.D., I heard stories about him from officers who’d assisted him with celebrity stalking cases.”
Stef didn’t care who The Guardian was or what he’d done. She was prepared to dislike him on sight. As far as she was concerned, The Guardian was just a man who wanted to take Keely away from her.
“Are there other family members? I’ve only heard about the sister—she doesn’t sound like someone I want to meet.”
“That information is being kept under wraps.”
Stef rolled her eyes. From the tone of Mitch’s voice, she wasn’t going to get any information out of him about the Collingwoods. Maybe she’d have better luck with his boss.
Keely popped the cup out of her mouth and twined her tiny fingers in Stef’s hair. “Mommy, beddy-bye story?”
“Sure, baby.” Stef curled an arm across her daughter’s body as if shielding her from Mitch’s real-life tales of pseudonymous detectives, celebrity stalkers and murderers.
“Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Keely, who lived in a cozy blue house on Maple Lane. One fall day Keely and her mommy were outside raking leaves when they heard a bell-like voice say, ‘Ouch!’ Keely looked down into the grass and found a tiny fairy who was just big enough to fit in her hand. The fairy was crying. The rake had ripped one of her beautiful wings and now she couldn’t fly home.”
She made a scooping motion with her hand and held it up to her daughter’s face. “Keely took the fairy home and made a soft bed for her with her snuggie. And her mommy put a special bandage on the fairy’s wing. The next morning when the fairy woke up, her wing was all better and she could fly home. To thank Keely, the fairy promised to grant her one special wish. And what did Keely wish for?”
Kee popped the cup out of her mouth again and yawned sleepily. “A daddy.”
Stef gaped at her in surprise. Where the heck had that answer come from? Keely had never said anything like that before. But then, she’d never been whisked away from her bed at night by her mommy and a towering stranger, whom she perceived as making her mommy sad. Keely was just a baby. Too young to understand that her daddy had died and gone to heaven. But instinctively old enough to articulate that she wanted a daddy to protect her and her mommy from Mitch.
Stef’s heart broke. Keely didn’t need a daddy. She had a mommy who loved her more than life itself and surely a judge would recognize that and rule in Keely’s best interests even if Stef wasn’t Keely’s biological mother. No matter how big of a fortune was involved.
Yeah, and Stef had bought into the fairy tale that she and Brad would live happily ever after, too.
“Oh, Kee,” she whispered, pressing her mouth against her daughter’s silky head and fighting to keep her tears from clogging her throat and upsetting Keely even more. “That’s a lovely wish. Now close your eyes and go to sleep just like the fairy.”
Softly, very softly, Stef sang her daughter the “I love you” song they’d invented and glared at the sleek golden outline of Mitch Halloran’s head.
MITCH SWORE under his breath as he attempted to tune out the love and desperation in Stef’s voice as she sang to Keely.
He’d witnessed some horrible things in his career—butchered bodies, neglected and abused children, junkies so strung out they’d take a life for a couple of bucks to buy their next fix. Now he could add this poignant moment to that list of worst evers.
All he could do was hold fiercely to the fragile cord of hope that somehow Stef Shelton would get her real daughter back alive. Or this would destroy her.
Just as another girl’s death had destroyed another heartbroken woman who had depended on him. Theresa Lopez had died of a stroke eight months after Carmen’s death.
Decisions usually came easy to Mitch. He didn’t waste time agonizing over what to do. He made a decision and went with it until the circumstances changed and he had to make another decision. Paddy had taught him that valuable lesson after Mitch had been dumped on his doorstep because his mother’s boyfriend didn’t like having a teenage boy with an attitude hanging around. The visit with his grandfather was supposed to be for a few days. But those few days had stretched into a month, then a couple of months.
After watching Mitch check the window every time a car pulled in the drive, Paddy had told him he had to quit worrying about when and if his mother was coming back—events he couldn’t control—and to make a decision to soldier on and focus on things he could control such as making friends, getting good grades and figuring out what his mission in life was. Most importantly, deciding what kind of man he wanted to be.
Mitch had used Paddy’s advice to control his destiny ever since—cracking the books to get the grades he needed to get a degree in criminal justice, busting his ass in the police academy and distinguishing himself as a detective.
He stole another look at Stef in the rearview mirror. Her left arm was curled protectively around the top of the car seat, her head pillowed on her shoulder. He steeled his emotions to the heartbreaking story of love and fear her body language projected.
“Is she asleep?” he asked tentatively, trying to establish a rapport with her. Whether she liked it or not, he was in this with her.
Her tone was charged with rebellion. “Yes, finally.”
Oh, boy.
He kept his tone even. “I know this is rough, but I need to ask you some questions.”
“Such as?”
“Do you remember anything unusual happening in the hospital after Keely’s birth? Did you see anyone suspicious near your child? Maybe a nurse or a hospital worker?”
“Why would I tell you anything that would help you succeed in your ridiculous claim that Keely isn’t my child?”
“Because, ma’am, deep down you know my claim is not ridiculous and beneath the anger and the fear you’re feeling, you want to do everything you can to get your daughter back home to you safely.”
She snorted. “If you knew anything about my feelings, Mr. Halloran, you’d stop calling me ‘ma’am.’ Or maybe you don’t want to do that because you sleep better at night by treating people as if they’re just another nameless face.”
He felt a strong poke in his shoulder. It took every ounce of his self-control to remain relaxed and to not tense up. He assumed it was her finger and not a gun, but who knew to what extremes a distraught parent might go under the threat of having to give up their child?
“You take a good look at my face, Halloran,” she continued bitterly. “My name is Stef Shelton. This is my life we’re talking about. My family. So don’t you talk to me like I’m some nameless, faceless person.”
Her words hit Mitch like a match to a fuse. He jerked the car over to the side of the road, switched on the overhead light and turned to face her.
There was no gun. Just one very defiant woman, who was in real danger of losing her family. His stomach catapulted again.
He pointed two fingers at his eyes, his voice just as hard as hers had been. “Stef, look at me. Right here. I can’t afford to be emotional or I’d spend half my waking hours guzzling beer and the other half puking my guts out over the stuff I see day in, day out. I am thinking about your life. Your family. Your daughter. I want to know who took her, and I want to get her back for you alive. Now answer my goddamn question.” The hardness in his voice turned to a plea. “Please.”
He saw the defiance leak out of her, saw her eyes turn to liquid gold in her pale face as they filled with new tears. His chest grew unbearably tight. She was a nice woman. And hot enough that he’d take a second interested glance if she weren’t intimately connected with the case. Stef Shelton loved Keely the way mothers were supposed to love their children. She’d never dump her child with a relative and disappear for years. Mitch didn’t even know whether his mother was alive or dead. He hadn’t seen his own dad except for that one time when he was six years old.
“I know this doesn’t seem fair, but we have to move beyond that and make smart decisions.” He snapped his mouth shut before he added the sorry platitude that life was rarely fair. He knew damn well that there was a chance that Stef Shelton’s real daughter could be buried in a shallow grave that would never be found.
But he wasn’t going to consider that possibility until he had strong evidence to suggest it was the case. He reached into the back and touched her knee, breaking the fundamental rule of successfully sustaining detachment, the line he never should have crossed with Carmen’s grandmother: don’t touch, don’t feel.
The moment he felt the wiry strands of Teresa’s gray hair against his cheek as she’d hugged him desperately, he’d lost his perspective. But he needed Stef’s cooperation. He had no badge that he could wave to induce her to talk.
She felt brittle and delicate as if sheer force of will was holding her together. “Trust me,” he said. “I only want to help.”
She took a shaky breath, her eyes still fixed on his. He could see the decision-making process going on in her head. Do I hate this bastard? Or do I trust him to help me?
Trust won out.
Mitch had the uncanny sensation he were staring down a gold-paved tunnel into her soul as she wet her lips and finally confided, “I woke up around 3:00 a.m. The sound of the door woke me. I thought it was the nurse or my husband coming to check on us because he’d decided not to stay overnight in the hospital with us. Dads can do that, you know.”
And she blamed her husband for not being there. He could tell by the defensive shift in her body language and the rigid tilt of her chin. But then, she was probably still angry with her husband for dying. Mitch was familiar with that kind of anger. Paddy was the one person he’d counted on being there for him. Always.
“Did you see the person? Could you tell if it was a male or female? Did you notice anything they were wearing?”
“No, sorry.” She sounded sincere.
“Did you notice anything unusual about Keely at all? Her hair? Her weight? The ID bracelets?”
She frowned, thinking back. “Nothing significant. It was two and a half years ago. To be honest, I don’t think Brad or I looked that closely at the ID bracelets. Having a baby is a pretty exhausting experience.”
“I’ll bet. I don’t have any kids, but I suspect they call it labor for a reason.” He squeezed her knee, intending to leave things on a friendly note and to get the sedan back on the road, but she stopped him, catching his hand with hers. Mitch’s heart kicked up a beat at the hesitant, light-as-a-feather touch of her fingers.
“Mitch…?”
He nodded encouragingly. It was the first time she’d used his name. But it also triggered a tremor of unease on the back of his neck at the level of intimacy it created.
“The ransom note you showed me—it said the little girl had her father’s eyes and her mother’s smile. W-what color were Ross Collingwood’s eyes?”
He held her gaze, smiled gently, relieved to see that she was rallying and wasn’t going to stay in denial about her biological daughter’s fate. He imagined Stef Shelton had strengths she hadn’t tapped yet. “They were blue. And the hairs that accompanied the note were dark brown.”
“Brad had blue eyes,” she said wistfully, releasing his hand.
Mitch searched her determined, tear-streaked face and Keely’s slumbering form for a second longer, then turned out the overhead light and pulled back onto the road.
