Deadly Secrets (31 page)

Not that she’d wanted to give her child up at all. He knew that, he’d spoken to her about it himself.

He saw “hotels?” written in the margin.

A quick search brought him what he needed and didn’t want to know.

Damn it.

Prominent family, his ass.

These people were
all
about family, and they were not only affluent but powerful as well. They adopted kids, or one of them did, based on a write-up in a hotel magazine. There was not a complete family photo. He’d like one so he’d know who he had to watch for.

Shit. Why hadn’t he vetted this one more closely?

He tapped his fingers on his desk.

Then again, maybe it was a different Kinncaid?

He looked at what he knew to be forged adoption documents.

Mother’s signature.

He squinted. Surely his assistant could have done better than that.

And the father?

Quinlan.

Quinlan Kincaid. The signature was missing an
n
. He drew a deep breath. He just might have to kill that stupid, albeit sexy, bitch yet, or rather sooner than he wanted to. Kinncaid had two
n
s.

He did a search.

Yes. Same family.

He sat back again. Maybe the rich guy was an ass, which was irrelevant. If Ella made it to the man, or if he found out, he could cause problems. Because though they could claim Ella had signed the document, Mr. Kinncaid would undoubtedly state he’d never signed the damned thing.

This was a clusterfuck waiting to happen.

He jerked out his desk drawer, rummaging until he found the plain black-and-white card he’d used several years ago. He’d saved it because one never knew when he’d need certain services.

He stared at it for several minutes. Probably have to use the guy again later if things kept on as they were, and wouldn’t that be a pinch in the damned checkbook?

He dialed and waited. Three rings later a Southern voice drawled, “Hello, Doctor, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I have a job for you.”

“One would assume. And?”

“And I’ll make it worth your while if you hurry. Like yesterday.”

He waited and looked out the large picture window of his office, the predawn sky slowly fading black to blue. Taking a deep breath, he started the story and told the man all the particulars.

“And when I find her?”

“She’s become a problem I need . . . taken care of.”

Silence. “Well, I assumed. People don’t call me to discuss the weather. How quickly do you want this finished?”

“The sooner the better. Today.”

“Give me her name.”

“Ella. Ella Ferguson. Or Kinncaid. And she’s involved with a Quinlan Kinncaid of the D.C. area. Family owns hotels or some such. She’s currently in University Medical in Albuquerque.”

“That ought to be easy enough. I’ll call you.”

“Soon,” he blurted. “The sooner the better.”

“As soon as I know something.” The phone clicked in his ear.

He blew out a breath and leaned back, her image filling his computer screen. If they were lucky, all would be over soon.

Pity though.

She was a beautiful woman. Pregnant or not, he’d rather liked watching her give her yoga classes. He looked to the door. It was time to make a few adjustments to things before the cops showed up and shut them down completely, because that was coming as soon as the next sunrise. He was surprised they hadn’t already tried to shut the whole operation down, but it was coming. Then again, he hadn’t been answering his phone. Perhaps he should get rid of it in the next day or so.

He rubbed a hand over his face. Had it all just happened yesterday? This had been a long damned weekend. At least the timing was working to their advantage, gave him a bit of time to get things in order.

He had the buyer already, had the baby, who seemed healthy enough, and now . . .

Now he had loose ends to snip.

Part III: Reckoning

Chapter 22

University Medical Hospital, Sunday morning

Quinlan stood outside her room on the third floor. Everyone else was scattered about the waiting room down the hallway. Ian and Rori were arguing when he’d left. John Brasher, who’d showed up at some point with Aiden, was somewhere, and there was the Jareaux guy from the FBI who wanted to talk to him, or to Ella. He’d told him what he could, which was damned little. Why didn’t the feds talk? He’d already talked to an Agent Sabino, who had only left sometime earlier saying she’d be back. He was okay with Sabino, she seemed to get it all. She questioned, pushed a bit, but seemed to get he didn’t know much.

Jareaux though. That man was pushy with his questions and just annoyed him. The man had kept staring at him—why, Quin had yet to figure out—until he needed air, and he didn’t like to leave Ella for more than a few minutes.

Aiden stood beside him. His other brothers, Gavin and Brayden, had stayed home—thank God. He just couldn’t deal with
all
of them right now, well-meaning though they were.

“You okay?” Aiden asked.

Everyone had been asking that and honestly he had no answers. His brothers wanted to know where she’d been and why he hadn’t known about the baby, and his sisters, or sisters-in-law, simply told him to be there for her. His mother was pissed she hadn’t known he was even married; Pops hadn’t said a word other than, “You’ll know what to do.”

Really? Because he really didn’t think he would, and yet it was the sanest advice he’d been given.

Below, the hospital was a bustle of activity. Carts wheeled, speaker announcements bulleted out, shoes squeaked across the easily mopped floors of the lower-level ER and ICU. But not here. Here women rested in hushed halls. A baby cried behind a door and laughter floated from another.

They’d moved her earlier today even though she still hadn’t really woken up in the ICU. She’d moved a bit, and he thought she’d tried to say something behind her mask, but other than that, nothing.

He hadn’t been into this new room yet. They’d just moved her and then the cops and his brothers had shown up.

The door before him was bare of any blue or pink bows or ribbons. No one laughed within.

“Hey,” Aiden said, grabbing his shoulder. “You’re not alone, you know. This isn’t the crap from the last year or so—where we just give you lots of space. We’re all here for you and whether you want us or not, you damned well need us right now. This isn’t just you, Quin.”

“I know. I know that. I do. But I really don’t think I can take one more piece of advice, one more well-meaning comment. One more . . .” He stopped and bit down. “Aiden. . .” He raked a hand through his hair. “Where the hell is the baby? Where’s my daughter?”

He knew it was a girl, she’d told him as much on the phone Friday night. The paramedics said it was a girl, and her medical records, though not actually released to him, had shown she’d been pregnant with a baby girl. And it wasn’t due for over three weeks.

Aiden tilted his head. “Are you sure it would be yours?”

Quinlan ignored him and walked into the room, almost glad of the quiet hush of the room.

Was it his?

His gut and knee-jerk reaction was
hell yes.
But what did he honestly know of Ella? The timing was right and the Ella he’d known in New Orleans, or thought he’d known, had not been sleeping with someone else.

She still lay hooked to IVs.

He limped over to the bed, easing down into the chair beside her.

The heart monitor didn’t beep, but as he’d learned down in ICU earlier in the day, he was calmed by watching the small square mounted to the IV stand. Slow and steady, then erratic, then steady again. The clear oxygen tube was still under her nose and there were still bags of clear fluids and blood on the metal curled hooks.

He’d passed other rooms. He didn’t remember looking into them. But he’d been in labor and delivery rooms last year when Brayden and Christian’s baby was born, when Gavin and Taylor had a kid. Christian’s room and Taylor’s had been bursting with gifts, and flowers, and stuffed animals. Balloons.

None of that was here.

But then, there was no baby, was there? He should get her some flowers anyway. Just because. Or would that look like a sympathy gift? And why the hell did he give a shit about flowers just now? He huffed out a breath and raked his fingers through is hair.

Where the hell was his child?

He leaned over and took her hand in his. The long pale fingers lay lax in his. At least they were no longer cold, and her cheeks didn’t look as pale to him. He didn’t know where she’d been.

What she’d been doing or who she’d been doing it with.

The police were looking through her life here, and the FBI. He’d talked to a couple of them, but he’d been useless in helping them. The cops acted as if they didn’t believe he hadn’t known about the baby prior to Friday. The feds, though, had stood up for Quinlan just as Brody had jumped in. Apparently the FBI did not believe he had anything to do with the disappearance of his daughter or with his wife’s abduction.

So many thoughts swirled in him. He couldn’t ask her just yet, she was still out.

But they needed to know so much.

He rubbed his fingers over the back of her knuckles. He remembered kissing them before. Remembered the sound of her laughter.

The way her coaxing voice could almost chide. A cutting glance from her eyes. Her lips could tilt just so at one corner, making him want to kiss her. Then make love to her. But then again, he had. They had. More times than he could count, and in some cases remember.

And that was what ate at him the most.

This was why he hated to give up control. Shit always happened when he relaxed and gave up control. Give up control and he almost gets killed, give up control and he ends up married. Give up control and let her have her space . . . and she calls months later claiming to need his help. Because she was pregnant with his baby and didn’t tell him sooner. And now?

Kinncaids and defending.

He put his head on the bed and stared at the floor.

He knew without talking to the man just what his father thought about it all—other than he’d know what to do.

It wouldn’t matter, not really, and it didn’t, that she hadn’t wanted to be married to him. Not if she was pregnant. He should have swallowed his pride and . . .

Kinncaids accepted responsibilities. Period. And it wasn’t even about accepting responsibilities but doing what was right simply because it was right.

How did he not know about the baby?

Why the hell had she not told him about the baby?

Because she didn’t want the marriage. Didn’t want you. Didn’t want the whole package deal.

And he had?

Since when?

Hell, his whole family was shocked as hell and he had no one to blame but himself.

He looked at her pale face, freckles standing out across her nose and cheekbones. Her lashes were still long and curled against her cheeks.

Other than her hair, she didn’t look any different. Shouldn’t she look different to him after so much time, after having a child?

Women were supposed to gain weight, weren’t they? Why then did she look like she’d lost weight. Her wrist bones were even more prominent and fragile than he remembered, even with the bandages. Her arms smaller, her cheekbones more bladed. Her eyes sunken with darker circles, the only real color on her almost chalklike complexion.

Blood loss.

“Please wake up. Please open your eyes.”

He wanted her to open her eyes. Wanted to see them flash at him again, wanted to see her cheeks blush as he knew they could. See her dimpled smile.

She had called, begged for his help. He’d tried, but it hadn’t been enough. Better late than never, he guessed, sighing. None of it mattered right now. Now, he just wanted her to wake up so they could . . . he could . . .

Could what?

Ask her. Ask her . . . talk to her . . . yell at her? And what kind of man did that make him? Hell if he knew, though he figured not a very good one. He laid his forehead on the edge of the bed.

“Please wake up. We need you so you can tell us what happened, so we can find our baby. Please wake up, Ella. Come back to me. Please.”

The minutes ticked by and he paced to the window, staring out at nothing. He was so damned tired he could barely think. Ella moaned.

He whirled around and saw her frowning. Quin hurried back to the bed.

“She’s mine! She’s mine! Noooooo!” Ella mumbled.

Quinlan stood beside her bed. “Ella. Ella, wake up. Ella. You’re safe now. Come on, you’re safe.”

She gasped and opened her eyes. Those eyes. He’d remembered those eyes. Thought about, dreamed about and missed those eyes. Those beautiful blue-green eyes, and yet now they were different. The sparkle was gone. The innocence he’d always seen in them.