Deadly Secrets (38 page)

Granted, it might be nothing. Might be. Then again, might not.

If the DeSaros had adopted a child and that child turned out to be Quin’s . . . well, no matter how powerful the DeSaros were, the adoption wouldn’t be legal, no matter what the Nursery officials and their lawyers said. Ella was his legal sister-in-law. Even if she lost her fucking mind and gave the baby up, Quinlan didn’t. They were married, the baby was his.

“They were leaving with baby stuff, bags and whatnot,” Rori said. “Coincidence has never been big with either of us.”

“No, it hasn’t.”

“I got the plate of the limo, just in case.”

He grinned. “So did I, but I know who it was.” He took out his phone and called Johnno. “Look up Vincent DeSaro, his wife, and what they are doing in Albuquerque at an adoption agency.”

For a moment there was silence.

“Fine.”

He hung up and looked at Rori. “Ready to go see about adopting a baby?”

“Think that was the couple that got Quin’s baby?” She still looked at the corner.

“Don’t know, love. Even if they are, we’ll need a court order. I can promise you that man will not let anyone take a child from them. And even with a court order, if that baby turns out to be Quin’s, we might start a war with the DeSaros.”

She quirked a brow. “Like that would concern you.”

He just looked at her.

“Okay, it does concern you, but still. With a name like DeSaro, I’ll assume they’re Italian.”

“Sicilian, I think.”

“Then if the chap understands anything, he understands family.”

“Oh, we all understand family. Our own. Everyone else’s can go to hell.”

With that, he turned and walked them into the building and to the elevators. Both were quiet on their ride up.

“I’m going to want to kill whomever is up here, won’t I?” Rori whispered.

“Probably.”

“But we can’t.”

He put his hand on the small of her back and kissed her cheek as he led her out and into a well-furnished reception area. “No, not yet.”

Two men were standing there. One way to find out what was going on.

“Hi, we’re the McGregors,” he told the man he knew was a doctor with the Nursery.

“Dr. Merchant, and this is one of our lawyers, Mr. Hernandez. Nice to meet you, and I’m glad you found us.” He ushered them into the office and the lawyer left. Hernandez. Another one they’d need to check out. Rori held out her hand and shook the man’s. Ian could tell from her look that she was going to have more fun questioning this bastard than he was. And they couldn’t even really play since the feds and cops knew they were here.

Damn, sometimes he missed his old life.

He motioned to a sitting area with photo albums on the coffee table and sat, shifting in one of the leather armchairs.

The man shifted again. “If you don’t mind, how did you hear of us?”

Ian gave the man a small smile. “I’d rather not say. A previous happy couple that used you when no one else would help them. And I have my own ways of finding out information that is hard for the average individual to obtain.”

For a moment no one said anything.

“I saw someone leaving downstairs who I recognized. Mr. DeSaro is an acquaintance. I believe we met at a party at his villa in Italy. Or was it Morocco, darling?”

She shrugged. “I thought it was the castle in Scotland.”

And just like that, he felt the change come over Dr. Merchant. People said those with money were different. They smelled different, acted different, looked different.

Well, perhaps. He didn’t really know. All this was just an act.

But greed?

Greed he knew and could recognize a mile away. He’d rolled and swam in it for years. He leaned back and laced his fingers. Yes, for this bastard, he was sorry he wouldn’t get to play the game the way he used to. If he could, he’d know everything he needed to in half an hour, tops. Legalities be damned.

He glanced to Rori and knew she thought the same. Sometimes being good was nothing more than a waste of time.

Chapter 27

Sunday night, the hospital

Quinlan settled in a chair next to the bed and pulled up the journal from the flash drive. He should probably sleep, as he honestly had no idea the last time he’d slept in the last day . . . two? The attempt on her life earlier in the day killed any tiredness he’d had. Whoever had been in her room had tried to attach a syringe of potassium chloride to her IV. Thanks to Ian’s man, Ella was fine. Her blood work was clear.

She was alive. He glanced at her. Sleeping again, but alive.

He sighed and opened the drive, found the folder marked
Journal
and opened it.

The first entry was weeks after she’d moved to Taos.

I’m starting this journal because . . . well, I’m pregnant! I’m so excited. So scared too. So . . . so . . . everything . . .

He read on, living through her experiences, practically hearing her voice in her words. At first he got lost in her words, smiling at phrases, expressions, things she’d experienced, said, hoped. There was a photo embedded of the first sonogram. As he read, he saw her change. Watched as she waited for his letters, to see what he thought, if he was excited too.

But he’d never gotten the letters.

Her exuberance gave way to fear. He read on. He read how those she worked with tried to talk her into considering adoption. How they told her that someone like him wouldn’t want a by-blow, a love child. He took a deep breath and continued, growing more and more angry. He read of her worries about women she met, those she came to see as friends. He knew her, when something happened to one of the girls—like Nadia—she’d feel responsible.

I watched today. The girl that was worried? She’s not here anymore. Another one gone . . .

Another passage stood out to him and he felt like maybe, just maybe he’d be able to breathe again at some point. She’d missed him, missed them.

I should never have left New Orleans. I know that now. I can feel it deep in my bones. I wish things were different. And why, oh why did I think I could make a difference? Could help these girls or women? Pride is a terrible, terrible sin and now I realize that.

I just want Quinlan, my Quinlan. Maybe he’ll never forgive me. I know this. I never thought it would take this long. Regrets and whatever . . . I can’t think.

My choices to run when life suddenly was too real, that will be on my tombstone someday: Here lies a woman who was afraid.

And after moving here and learning about the baby . . . even more real. Until I ran, Quin and I just sort of floated. He came down every weekend and it worked without being too difficult. Or I think it did. Maybe I’m wrong. I probably am. I know he wanted more. He wanted an us, in the same city, same bed, with the same names on stuff. Or at least the same last name. I ran and created more problems by running.

More problems than I understand. And I don’t even know when it all happened. I was teaching yoga. These people in Taos are serious about yoga. Not the regulars or rich housewives I’m used to or the health nuts . . . but it’s just different here. The new job at the Nursery of Dreams seemed perfect too.

I missed Quinlan.

And then . . .

The two pink lines.

Several of them.

And the class at the Nursery and talking to the doctors there and the feds. It’s all such a blur tonight. But I agreed to help them. My choice. Not to contact anyone, except for those letters to Quinlan that Agent Jareaux said he’d take care of.

Why didn’t Quinlan write me back? Why didn’t I hear from him. I know, I know. What was I really thinking? Some great guy married me. I ran. Secret baby. Please, there were shelves of books with this plotline.

He knows I’m in Taos, and I know he’s in D.C.

Then again, maybe he’s pissed still because I left. But we talked so much before. Talked and talked and talked and I just knew that things this time were different.

And it would have been.

A voodoo priestess once told me I was my own worst enemy.

I see now what she meant.

I don’t know myself, do I? I wouldn’t be here if I did. If I don’t know myself, how can I help myself, let alone anyone else.

Let alone my own child?

Her thoughts went from cohesive and flowing to jagged and skipped.

He took a deep breath and rolled his neck. Her worries that these bastards fed her, that he wouldn’t want the baby, wouldn’t want someone like her. That if he did want the baby, he and his family could hire better lawyers and take the baby. He read through arguments with herself that he would never do that, that she knew him. She wrote how she could understand if his family did take that course, if she had to battle them, how they would break her in a month. His chest felt tight seeing how she went from vivacious and his Ella to someone full of doubts and fears. He saw how through the weeks they tried to wear her down, tried to get the child legally through fear and coercion.

I’m worried.

They’re still talking to me about adopting, but I don’t want to give her up. She’s MINE!

MINE!

I’m not giving her up. Even Lisa hinted at it. My doctor asked me if I was sure I wanted to keep the baby. It feels like they are all against me. Am I going crazy? It feels like I am.

I don’t know who to talk to about things anymore. I feel like I’m being watched. I told Jareaux this, but he told me not to worry, they’d look into it. He’s not the one with a child kicking him awake from the inside, is he? He said I worried too much and if I focused more on evidence than on myself this would be over.

Is he right?

I don’t know anything anymore.

Or I feel like I don’t.

I need help, but I don’t know who to trust. I don’t know if I can trust Jareaux or not. I wish Quinlan had answered my letters. Why didn’t he answer them? Maybe Jareaux never gave him my letters.

I don’t want to do this anymore.

The last entry. He rubbed his eyes and was glad it was done. He’d save a copy of the flash drive to the PC, get another one and give a copy to the cops, feds, whoever.

I’m in over my head.

I’m scared . . . I’m scared that they will just . . .

What if they just take her? What if they just take my baby?

I know that sounds crazy. I even mentioned it to my therapist at the Retreat. She said I needed to reevaluate the root of my fears. That I really feared Quinlan and his family taking her away and I was transferring my fears into a scenario that I would rather deal with. Well, that sounds good. And maybe Quinlan would take her away, but these people . . .

I know Quin. I know what he’d want. He wanted me. He wanted an us to make us work and if he’s with the snooty Brit chick, then I have no one to blame but myself.

Snooty Brit chick? He smiled. Rori answering his phone. He glanced over to his sleeping wife. Then he forced himself to follow her now convoluted entry.

The other girl, the one that was staying at the Nursery and working in the kitchens—Amber—I haven’t seen her in a couple of days. No one knows where she is.

She wanted to keep her baby. Amber had already signed papers though. She didn’t know what to do. I told her to get a lawyer. People change their minds all the time. People change their minds about keeping kids. Sometimes they give them away, sometimes they give them back.

Sometimes they hold on to their kids until someone has to pry them away.

I’m so scared and nothing makes sense anymore.

Girls missing, but they aren’t anyone who can be traced or missed. No family. It’s the ones I know that worry me, the ones who talked to me, who worried about exercise and what they ate, who had no one else to turn to. They trusted me to help them.

Another girl who gave up her son told me she didn’t want to talk to me after it was all over.

The other two?

Well, one went into labor and was yelling through it that she wanted to keep her son. I caught the look one of the nurses passed to another. Then something went wrong and they took her away. I haven’t seen her since. I haven’t seen the baby.

I’ve asked. Demanded to know. But I get the line that her medical information is protected and private and I’m not on her list of people to tell. I tried to find out, I snuck into Dr. Radcliffe’s office, but Lisa saw me. She covered for me when Sally showed up as well. I looked through his files, trying to find. There was one file I just caught a glimpse of before I heard someone coming . . . a black file that only said “Others” on it.