Deadly Secrets (28 page)

Lying there, she sobbed. Sobbed and sobbed. “No. No. No . . .”

Her eyes fluttered open and she looked up. Up at the IV lines that she followed like clear snakes to the bottles hanging above.

Heparin.

What was that? She looked at the IV catheter where Lisa had plunged the syringe of heparin . . . heparin . . .

What did that do?

And then she knew.

Oh God. She’d bleed to death.

Bleed to death . . . something important Lisa had said . . . something . . . bleeding . . .

The walls faded before they focused sharply.

No one would ever look for her daughter. No one knew.

Quinlan would never know. He’d never know she loved him and wanted the family. Never would know his daughter. He wouldn’t even know to look for their daughter.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to sit up. Her muscles didn’t want to work. Instead she rolled over and pushed herself up with her arms until she swayed, sitting on the side of the bed. The room spun.

She could feel the hot blood draining away, running out of her.

Her wrists were bloody. Not old blood, but new warm blood. She watched as if it were someone else and pulled the IV from her arm with bloody fingers. Liquids went everywhere.

Strong.
Have to be strong
. Chin up, keep going, as her mother always said.

She had to be strong. Had to get out of here. Had to or all would be lost. No one would find her daughter if she didn’t.

Another sob caught in her throat. She stumbled to the door and pressed against the wall.

The wall was soft . . . squishy.

She blinked.

Soundproof.

She stumbled and fell into the hallway. Slowly, putting her hands on the wall, she stood.

When would they be back? They? She? Her thoughts jumped and swirled.

The hallway wasn’t too long, but took forever. Lights came through three small windows at the top of the front door.

Just had to get to the front door.

Door. For several minutes she fumbled with the knob and the lock. Finally she pulled it open and cold wind blew on her face. Had to get out. Just get out . . .

She stumbled down the stairs and kept going until she fell and the world went quiet . . .

* * *

Ella moaned and opened her eyes . . . Where was she? Dark. It was dark.

She slowly stood and moaned, the world around her tilted and swam . . .

Grass. Grass? Why was she lying on grass?

Where was she? A house or building was in front of her.

Away. Have to run . . .

Run . . . Get away . . .

She stumbled out into the light. Where was she?

Can’t die . . . can’t die . . .

The lights. Too bright. Too dim. Everything in contrast. Where was she? She blinked and tried to focus.

The street blurred before her. She saw the dark river of asphalt. The tall, wavering streetlights. Flickers of lights zoomed to and fro farther down the way.

Where was she?

She stopped, the road cold beneath her bare feet. Her foot hurt. Her ankle hurt.

She raised her hands and saw there was blood on them. Blood and scabs on her mangled wrists. Her shoulders hurt. Her head throbbed. Hell, her whole body seemed to pulse with pain, almost distant and dull, but not quite enough.

The cold wind blew against her legs and she looked down. Something shimmered, dark and glossy, along the bottoms of her legs. Why couldn’t she think?

Something important.

She put her hands on her stomach.

Important . . .

And remembered.

Her stomach.

The baby. The baby . . .
Her
baby.

The bump was different. Smaller, softer. She pressed her abdomen with her bloody hand splayed on her stomach.

No. No. No.

Images, disjointed and fractured, jumped in her brain.

A baby crying.

Red hair.

A room. A room where she’d been tied down.

They’d taken her baby. Taken it. Taken her sweet little girl.

No. No. No.

She stood there, shaking from cold, from shock. Ice in her veins.

“Ma’am?”

Bright. Too bright. Bright, bright lights.

“Ma’am?”

Slowly, she turned and blinked.

“Baby. My baby,” she whispered.

Someone walked toward her, the image dark against the bright lights. A hand reached for her. “Ma’am . . . I’m . . . help . . .”

A man’s voice, faded and loud, then silent against her eardrums.

“No, please,” she whimpered.

“You’re safe now. You’re safe.” The world tilted and she tried to make sense, but nothing did. Cold. So, so cold. Why was she so cold?

Quinlan. She wanted Quinlan. She’d called him. He was coming to help. Help them. Help her.

“Ma’am. Stay with me . . . stay . . .” A static of radio voices tunneled to her, swirling and merging, fading . . .

“Stay with me. Help is on the way,” shouted down at her.

The sky was dark, then bright. Red. Blue. Red. Blue. Dark. The darkness grew . . .

She tried to pull away. Tried to go.
Have to find her. Have to find her
.

“Ma’am, what’s your name? Your name?”

A dog barked somewhere and kept barking, jerking her back to here, to now, away from the darkness for a moment. She could feel the darkness getting closer though, whispering to her. Sirens screamed louder and louder.

“Ma’am, calm down. Calm down.” Hands held her and she blinked, finally focusing. A policeman. A cop.

She licked her lips. “Cop. Help. Please.”

“What’s your name?” he asked. Dark hair, dark eyes.

“Ella. Ella.” She grabbed his shirt. “Help me. They took . . .” She tried to take a deep breath, but her chest felt funny, tired. So damned tired. “Baby. They took my baby. My . . . my . . . Please, I need him. Please. They took her.”

“Him? . . . Ella! Stay with me! What’s his name?”

“Quin.” She licked her dry, cracked lips. Dry. So tired.
Have to find her. Have to find her baby . . .

“Ella! What’s his name?”

“Quinlan Kinncaid . . . D.C. . . . The baby. Took her. They took her. Please . . .” She wanted Quin. “He’s my . . . my . . .” She tried to swallow; the world unfocused again in bright blues and reds as sirens screamed in her ear. “Husband.”

She saw his lips move, knew he leaned over her, but the darkness grew, a terrible monster, and swallowed her whole.

* * *

Albuquerque, New Mexico, October

Jareaux stacked the files on the side of his desk and glanced toward the window. Late afternoon sun slashed through the panes.

He really hated this damned place. Glancing at his watch, he wondered what he’d do the rest of his Saturday. He’d just wrapped up a major case and already was getting recommendations for it—or so he’d heard.

Thank God, maybe he’d finally get the hell out of this shithole. He hated this assignment. He wanted a coastal town, not a desert-landlocked backward place. Could have been in worse places, he supposed.

The case he’d closed with the crate of kids, that just might get him out of here.

A knock on the edge of his desk drew his attention from the window to the woman leaning against his desk.

“Did you hear, Jareaux?”

Agent Sabino. Smart woman, independent as hell and probably ate nails for breakfast. He found her to be a bitch. She never helped him.

“Hear what?” he asked.

She tilted her head. “Remember that woman that called yesterday, or was it the day before? The one called looking for you? The pregnant one? Something about helping you with a case that doesn’t exist? Missing babies and missing mothers.”

He paused in stacking the folders just so and gave her his full attention.

“What are you talking about?”

She smiled. “Ella Ferguson Kinncaid. Just reported missing, came across the fax a minute ago.” She studied him. “Thought you might want to know. Her family is rather connected it seems. Inez will be all over this, I imagine.”

“Why?”

“Because most in the office know Mrs. Kinncaid has called here several times this last week to speak to you. And in case you haven’t figured it out yet, Inez runs a tight ship. Woman claims to be working with you and her story never changed, Inez is going to find out what the hell’s going on. Especially when that woman is a missing pregnant woman whose in-laws go to senators’ Christmas parties and probably share the same country clubs or something.” She smiled again, but it held no humor. “Thought I’d let you know.”

He watched her turn away and walk out the doors. He sighed and raked a hand through his hair.

Fuck.

This was all he needed.

Ella was missing. Woman had been nothing but trouble since he met her. He was not going to let her ruin his career.

Chapter 20

Albuquerque, University Medical Hospital, Saturday

Quinlan didn’t know what the hell to think or do. He’d talked to the police, spoken face-to-face to Detective Hudson and a special agent with the feds. The doctors, the nurse—some forensic nurse. He didn’t remember. Ian had plenty of questions as well, but then he was Ian, didn’t he always have questions?

Hell, Quinlan had plenty of questions as well, and no damned answers.

He sat alone in the waiting room for now. Where the rest were, he didn’t know. Ian, Rori, Aiden, and Brody had descended less than an hour ago. He wondered when the rest of his family would descend. He was under no illusions that they would not. Didn’t matter if he’d rather they stayed away for a bit until he at least knew what the hell was going on.

No. Kinncaids stuck together.

The Richardsons had called him. He’d let them know when she was found, but asked them to stay in Taos until he knew something for sure. Now he was glad they weren’t here yet. They were older, they didn’t need to be pacing hospital waiting rooms or corridors at all hours of the night. He still didn’t have any news for them.

Mr. Richardson had told him they’d be over tomorrow.

Brody strolled into the waiting room and muttered something about western cops wanting easy fixes.

Whatever.

Quin just wanted to see her. He hadn’t really seen her yet. Not yet, not really. He’d seen her through the window, but then the feds had shown up and wanted to talk to him.

Someone sat down beside him in the chair in the stupid waiting room. He knew these walls intimately, had counted the number of scuffs and scratches in the pale yellow paint.

Why couldn’t he see her yet?

“Mr. Kinncaid?” the person said.

He jerked and turned to the man beside him, dressed in a white lab coat.

“I’m Dr. Forrester,” he said, holding out his hand. “You want the good news or the bad news?”

Seriously? Quin only raised a brow and shook the man’s hand. “Right now, I just want to see her. I’ve been here for over an hour and I still haven’t gotten to see her.”

His nerves were frayed and he’d snapped at everyone who called to the point that he’d finally just handed his phone to Ian, asking his brother to tell everyone to just leave him the hell alone for a while.

The police believed she’d had a baby. Which means the doctors must believe it as well.

So where the hell was the baby?

“Quinlan?” Brody shook him by his shoulder.

Finally, he looked from Brody to the doctor. “Whichever. Just tell me something and let me see my wife.”

The doctor nodded. “Right now, she’s in PACU—post anesthesia care—and being monitored. We’ve managed to stop the bleeding, given her a couple of bags of blood and fluids. Her hormone levels are still high enough she couldn’t have had the baby more than a day ago.” The doctor sighed and raked a hand over his bald head. “Her tox screens are off. I’ve given those reports to the authorities.”

“What does that mean?”

“We want copies as well,” Brody interrupted.

“Her blood levels show depressants, how long, I’m not sure. Other things usually found in post-op patients. So we’re wondering about that as it’s not available to just anyone.” He took a deep breath. “Her INR levels are insane. She was already bleeding, and frankly, I’m surprised she’s not dead.”

“INR levels?”