Deadly Secrets (52 page)

“Mr. DeSaro,” he said, offering his hand.

For a moment, the man looked like he wanted to hit him, but then he took a deep breath and held out his hand. “Mr. Kinncaid.”

“I want to see her. I have to see her. Now.” Ella pulled her hand from his before he could grab her.

“Ella, wait.”

“No. I want to see my daughter
now.
”

Landry stepped up to her. “You will. But first there are some things you should know. She’s sick, you’ll have to ask the doctors for the particulars.”

She whirled on the DeSaros.

“No,” Landry said, grabbing her arm. “Listen to me, Mrs. Kinncaid. These people, they didn’t do anything to her. You, and she, were very, very lucky. They believed the adoption was legal. They’ve only taken the very best care of your daughter. When she was sick, they brought her in. Luckily she was still in the area, Ella, or this reunion might have been much longer in coming.”

She opened her mouth, closed it. Then opened it again. Finally she swallowed. “I. Want. To. See. Her.”

Quin stepped up beside her. “We. We will see our daughter. Now.”

Landry stepped closer to them. “You’d be wise to get your lawyer or brother to do a DNA test with the docs here and make sure the chain of evidence isn’t compromised. I can put a rush on it with a local lab we use sometimes. We’d have the results sooner.”

“We’ve already—”

“Just a precaution.”

He nodded. “Fine. Whatever. How sure are you this is our daughter?” He glanced at Ella, who was looking toward the doors at the end of the hallway. “I can’t have her broken again because this turns out not to be our daughter.”

“Red hair and the birthmark matches. Blood type matches. Plus the tech called when you were shot, he’d cracked the encryption and the records show that the DeSaros adopted your wife’s baby. Lisa kept a lot of records. We’re going to be very busy for the foreseeable future.”

He didn’t care about that right now. He sighed. “So it’s really her? Really our daughter?”

Landry smiled and slapped him on the shoulder. “Yes, Mr. Kinncaid. DNA is just a precaution, but yes.”

A doctor stood to the side and nodded. “That’s fine. Parents only.”

He and Ella followed the doctor. Quinlan tried to ignore the other woman’s cries and moans. “She’s ours! Sophia is ours! Tell them, Vincent. Tell them!”

He stopped and turned back to them. This man he’d done business with previously. He’d always respected him and he’d never in a million years thought they would be standing where they were today.

“I’m sorry,” he told the other couple. “I’m really sorry.”

He turned and hurried after his wife and the doctor. He was going to see his daughter.

His daughter . . .

In one room, they stopped and followed the directions the doctor gave them about washing and scrubbing before putting on scrubs to enter the neonatal unit.

He could hear the doctor talking to them, telling them about tubes hooked up to their daughter, but it all faded. Something about respiratory distress due to her lungs not fully developing and an infection.

Ella’s movements were quick, precise. When they were dressed he took her hand in his again and realized his were shaking.

As they walked through the door, the first thing he noticed were the machines. So many machines, quietly beeping, softly hissing. Little mewls and cries could be heard, but not many.

Which one was she?

He took a deep breath and another.

The doctor led them over to one Isolette where a baby lay on her back, an oxygen tube strapped to her little head, EKG patches attached to her chest and an IV in her arm.

Red hair. She had red hair and she was so pale, even as her fat little cheeks were flushed pink. Her little mouth was open as she panted.

“Oh my God. She’s so little,” he whispered. She was his.

Mine. She’s mine.

Ella put her hands on the outside of the plastic. “Hey, sweet girl. Momma’s here. I’m right here. I found you. I found you.” She started to cry then, silent tears streaming down her face. “By the grace of God,” she whispered. “We found you.”

He bit down and swallowed, tried to rein in his emotions. His hands shook so badly, he took them from her shoulders and tried to shove them into his pocket, but the scrub gown didn’t have pockets. Instead he fisted his hands and crossed his arms for a moment. He just needed a moment. He tried to swallow past the lump in his throat, but it didn’t do any good. Looking back, all he could think was,
She’s so tiny. So little to be sick.

A beep went off behind him and he looked over to see more Isolettes. More babies. The one next to them was much, much tinier than their own daughter. The little baby would have fit into his hand and she—he?—was buried under tubes and wires, an eye patch thing covered its eyes. He really looked around then and noticed that in comparison, his daughter looked healthy.

He looked up, blinked, blinked again, but it didn’t do any good.

Then Ella started to sing. An old Irish lullaby he vaguely remembered from childhood, from Grammy. Grammy who’d always told him that the good kind Lord worked things out. He smiled even as tears streamed down his own face.

His daughter moved at her mother’s voice, soft and lilting in the old words.

The doctor stepped up to them. “I’ll leave you in the nurse’s hands.”

“She’ll . . .” He cleared his throat. “Sh-she’ll be all right?” he finally managed to ask.

The doctor clapped him on the back. “Considering all that little girl has been through, to be born before thirty-six or seven weeks, I’d say she’s doing wonderfully well. Her O
₂
levels aren’t exactly where I want them to read, but I know they’ll get there. We’ve got her on meds and she’s doing wonderfully with them. When she’s a bit more stable, when her numbers are closer to where I want them, you can hold her. Might be a few hours.”

He nodded.

The doctor left and Ella continued to sing, her voice soft, breaking, and still hoarse as she cried. “Look at her, Quinlan. Look.”

Quinlan stepped closer to his wife and kissed her on the head as he looked down at that amazing little bundle.

“She’s really ours?” he whispered.

Ella nodded.

“You can both touch her, if you want,” a soft voice said beside them. “She’s okay and will only get stronger. Babies like to hear their parents’ voices.”

But his daughter had never heard his.

Ella’s hands immediately went into the holes on the side of the Isolette. “It’s warm inside.”

The nurse nodded. “We need to keep the babies warm. They can get cold really quickly. They’re used to a different environment, aren’t they? Mommas’ tummies are nice warm places.” The nurse said to him, “You won’t hurt her, Dad. You can touch her too.”

For a moment, he could only stand there. Dad. He was a dad.

He looked at his wife’s small capable hands, one lightly resting on the baby’s little chest, her other caressing the little head. Bright red hair.

That alone made him smile. He put his hands in the lower entrance and touched the softest skin he’d ever felt in his life. Her feet were perfect and he counted the toes, noticing that her heels were small and narrow, all her toes stubby and curled tight. He cupped the tiny, tiny foot and could only marvel. “Look at her, Ella. She’s beautiful.”

She looked up at him and they laughed together, crying together.

He leaned over and kissed her. “Look at our girl.”

“I love you,” she whispered. Then back to the baby, “I love you. Momma and Daddy are here and we’re not going anywhere.”

“This I’ll defend,” he whispered.

“What?” she asked him, looking up at him.

He swallowed and then swallowed again. “Our family motto. It’s
This I’ll defend.
”
He shrugged and tried to think how to explain. “Did I ever tell you that?”

She shook her head.

He ran a finger over the miniature fist, seeing how perfectly trimmed the nails were. “In our family, things like that are . . . well, we learn them young. Until you, I didn’t get it. I did in theory, but in reality?” He took a deep breath. “This last week’s been hell. I’m supposed to protect my wife, my family, that’s what we do, and to see you—what they did.” He felt his eyes fill again.

“Quinlan, you didn’t fail me, or us, you know that, right? You did defend me, this afternoon, in fact.” Her eyes narrowed. “Or have you forgotten the bullet wound in your arm?”

He waved her off. “You scared the hell out of me this last week, and then today . . . Today I was pissed at that man, irritated at you for not running.” The tiny fist opened under his caress and the miniscule fingers wrapped around his pointer finger, squeezing slightly. He grinned. “Defending you, us, that’s huge and scary. But she’s so little, Ella. Kids . . . protecting a child is monumental. What if I screw up? Hell, I’ve already screwed it up. What if . . .”

She reached over their daughter and wrapped her hand around their joined ones. “Together, Quinlan. Didn’t we just promise that today?”

He nodded.

“Together we’ll defend her and protect her and just . . . love her.”

His watery chuckle had him wiping his eyes. “This
we’ll
defend,” he amended. To his daughter he said, “Your mommy is very stubborn, but I love her. I love you too, little one.”

* * *

He checked his watch. Just a few more minutes and he’d be able to board. He’d taken care of all the loose ends. Lisa was dead; he’d heard on the news they’d found her body late last night. Kevin’s body would be found eventually near Espanola. Charred remains were in the burnt car.

He’d heard on the news as well that remains had been found under the rosebushes up at the Retreat. They’d announced that earlier today. That should keep the authorities busy.

He had a new identity, a passport. He’d be home free in just one more flight.

LAX was horribly packed and a madhouse, as always. Just a few more minutes. He wondered if they’d found the body of Kevin yet. He hadn’t heard of anyone finding the charred remains, but he knew they would. Probably.

Not his worry anymore.

He watched one of the airline personnel answer a phone behind the desk.

Please, not a delay. Not a damned delay.

She scanned the area and then nodded. Finally she hung up and picked up the mike. “We’re going to have a delay, folks. Not to worry, we’ll be boarding momentarily. Please . . .” The rest of what she said was drowned out by groans and complaints of passengers.

Why the delay?

Again he checked his watch. Maybe he should grab a bite. He stood up and turned and saw them.

Cops and suits. Suits were feds.

Were they looking for him?

One of them made eye contact and he knew.

Damn it.

He could run. But to where? He turned and saw another group approach from the other direction.

Could he make the exit? No, he’d have to dart by one of the groups and he’d probably get caught. Better to go peacefully and hope his lawyer would know what to do. He raised his hands and met one of the suits’ eyes.

“Dr. Merchant,” the man said.

“Yes?”

“You’re under arrest for kidnapping, human trafficking, and murder. You have the right to remain silent . . .”

He let the words wash over him as they took his carry-on and laptop case, and cuffed him.

So damned close.

He should have killed that bitch months ago and then all this would have been averted. He’d be free. His family would never know.

And now?

Now it would all come crashing down. They’d have his computer; if they didn’t already have it all figured out, they’d find his files. He’d tried to shred everything he could, tried to delete files that he knew would implicate him. But it all happened so fast. So damned fast . . .

As they walked him through the airport, he wished he’d never heard of Ella Ferguson . . . No. Kinncaid. Ella Kinncaid.

She’d brought the whole operation down.

He tried not to panic—after all, panic never did anyone any damned good. Not a bit. He didn’t like to be confined but he wouldn’t think about that.

One secret had to remain a secret. Had to. He’d do anything to make sure his wife and daughter never learned the truth.

His palms were damp as they helped him into an unmarked car parked at the curb of the terminal.

“I want my lawyer,” he told the feds as they both buckled up.

“Don’t worry, Dr. Merchant. You’ll get him, I’m sure,” one of them said.

He stared out the window and wondered what would happen if the whole truth ever did come out.

He’d helped people, damn it. He’d given people hope when they didn’t have any. He’d provided wonderful loving homes for kids who would otherwise not have had them. He’d
saved
children and given them bright, promising futures.