Dying for Love (7 page)

Sadie laughed. “You’re probably right.”

The baby whimpered, and Sadie gently scooped him up. “Do you want to hold him before I nurse him?”

A deep breath caught in Amelia’s throat as the memory of begging to hold her own son surfaced.

“He won’t break,” Sadie said, oblivious to the turmoil eating at Amelia.

Sadie eased the infant into Amelia’s arms, and she cradled him close to her, rocking him gently back and forth. He whimpered, then opened his eyes, squinting at the light as he kicked at the blanket.

“He’s so precious.” Amelia smiled at the way he curled his little hand next to his cheek. He felt so sweet in her arms, so tiny and innocent, that love for him overwhelmed her.

Sadie wrapped an arm around Amelia and hugged her. “He’s going to love his aunt.”

Amelia brushed at a tear. Would he?

If her son was alive, would he want to see her? If he knew about her mental illness, would he be embarrassed that she was his birth mother?

“What’s wrong?” Sadie asked.

God, she wanted to confide in her sister.

But that would be selfish.

The baby squirmed again, saving her from answering when he began to fuss.

Amelia traced a finger over the newborn’s soft dark hair, noting his features. Jake’s square chin and blunt nose. Sadie’s eyes.

“Ah, it’s okay, buddy, Mommy’s going to feed you,” Sadie said softly.

A hollow emptiness filled Amelia as Sadie took the baby from her, and she turned away so Sadie wouldn’t see more tears in her eyes.

Several pictures of Ayla, from birth to kindergarten, hung on the wall. The photos chronicled the little girl on holidays, and as she learned to crawl and walk. Ayla’s mother had abandoned her when she was small, leaving Jake to raise her alone.

In the last photo, Ayla, Jake, and Sadie posed together, beaming at Sadie and Jake’s wedding.

Sorrow wrenched her heart.

Her son would have been about the same age as Ayla.

Maybe the doctor who’d delivered her baby had taken him because he knew she was crazy. Incompetent. That she couldn’t take care of herself, much less a child.

Maybe her son was better off where he was, never knowing about her.

John shook off his concerns over Amelia as he stepped inside his office and punched Agent Liz Lucas’s number. He’d heard Liz was considering taking a leave from the TBI, that she and Rafe Hood were marrying and adopting a little boy. But she had connections that might help him.

Besides, it wasn’t his problem to worry over how Amelia would take the bad news if his investigation didn’t turn out as she wanted.

And in spite of the fact that she’d claimed she didn’t expect a happy ending, he knew that deep down she hoped for it.

That was human nature.

Still, she’d learned the horrors of people and life, and he couldn’t blame her for wanting the truth. If he were in her place and his child had been taken, he’d do everything humanly possible to find the kid.

The phone trilled a fourth time, then Liz picked up. “Agent Lucas.”

“Liz, it’s John.”

“What can I do for you?”

“Didn’t you work with a social worker regarding files related to the CHIMES project?”

“Yes, why?”

“This is strictly confidential, but I have reason to believe that Amelia Nettleton may have given birth while she was locked in that sanitarium.”

“Good heavens.”

“The nurse who drugged her admitted that Amelia delivered a little boy.” He explained about the exhumation and finding the coffin with the teddy bear. “Forensics is processing the casket and bear. I need you to ask your contact if she can track down the names of any baby boys born on July fourth of that year. There might be a record of an adoption.”

“I’ll call her office, but actually she took a leave of absence. I’m working with a new social worker named Helen Gray,” Liz said. “I’ll have her phone you.”

John’s other line buzzed. “Thanks. I’ve got another call coming in.”

John punched connect to answer the call. “Agent Strong.”

“John, it’s Coulter. There’s been another kidnapping.”

Hell. “Another child?”

“Yeah, a boy just like the others.”

Chapter Seven

T
he
bad weather forced John to slow his speed, making the drive to the foster family’s house longer than it should have been. Worse, a tree had fallen in the middle of the road, making it impassable, and he’d had to turn around and find an alternate route.

He parked in front of the house and cut the engine. Snow had piled on the roof and frost coated the windows, icicles dangling from the awnings.

The house had once been white but now looked dingy yellow. Toys, a sandbox, and a rickety swing set were scattered across the fenced-in yard.

His mind raced. They’d known Billingsly hadn’t been working alone.

Fuck. Billingsly’s partner had probably taken this kid.

In spite of the cold and snow, two little girls with stringy brown hair and big doe-like eyes climbed a metal jungle gym, the tire swing next to them creaking as a redheaded little boy of about six pushed it back and forth.

At least the kids wore coats and gloves.

The kid pushing the swing looked the same age as Ronnie Tillman, the boy who was taken. Why take one boy and not both? Why had he left the redheaded kid behind?

So far the unsub hadn’t discriminated by hair color. And the boy was the right age and gender.

Coulter was already on the scene, standing with a woman in a brown coat and faded jeans at the edge of the playground. She appeared to be visibly shaken, one hand clutching a wad of tissues as she held a baby on her hip.

John analyzed the scene with a critical eye. Since the house sat on the corner of two streets, the playground was visible from the street, easy access for a predator.

One of the little girls dangled her legs from the top of the jungle gym. “You a cop?”

He nodded and flashed his badge. She shrugged, and he decided she’d probably dealt with police before.

“One of the boys who stays here is missing?” he asked.

She twirled the fringe on the end of her snow hat. “That’s what Ms. Terri said. The kids were playing hide-and-seek. But we looked everywhere and can’t find him.”

John ground his teeth at the wariness in the little girl’s face. Foster kids usually came with baggage. They were distrustful, had attachment issues, had experienced domestic abuse, were angry from being moved from one home to the next. “Has he ever run away?”

She shook her head. “Ronnie ain’t been here long. Just a couple of days.”

“What do you know about his family?”

The little girl rocked back and forth, sending snow falling from the metal bars. “His mama’s a meth addict. Got locked up for it.”

Yeah, this kid was already world-weary. “And his father?”

“Shot and killed himself.”

Good Lord. Poor kid.

“If he ran away, where would he go?”

The little girl shrugged. “I don’t know. He didn’t like the cold or to play outside so we looked in all the closets. But he ain’t in there.”

The foster mother approached, tugging her hood over her ears. She looked a little rough about the edges, her skin milky pale and dry, her eyes tired. “I’m Terri Eckerton. Ronnie didn’t run away.”

“You’re sure about that?” John asked.

She nodded, jiggling the baby. “He’s not that kind of kid. Not adventurous or the kind to wander off.”

Coulter walked over to question the girls. Maybe he’d glean some information John hadn’t. Sometimes witnesses or family members offered different stories, or added details they might have forgotten.

John directed his comment toward Terri. “So Ronnie was happy about being here?”

“None of the kids are happy about being here,” Terri said with a note of sad acceptance in her tone. “They all miss their mamas and daddies. But I do the best I can to make it a decent place for them.”

That wasn’t John’s experience, and he’d grown cynical.

“Besides, Ronnie has asthma and knows he can’t be without his inhaler.” She gestured toward an army-green backpack on the ground by the fence. “It’s in there, along with the picture of his mother he keeps. He wouldn’t leave that behind.”

John couldn’t argue with that logic.

The baby whimpered, and she stuck a pacifier in his mouth.

The redheaded kid pushing the tire swing ran over and pulled at her arm.

Terri used sign language with the boy, speaking as she did. “What is it, Toby?”

He responded with his hands, and John adjusted his opinion of the woman. She might not be financially well off, but she seemed to care about the children under her charge. “Go on to the bathroom. I’ll check on you in a minute.”

“When did you first realize Ronnie was missing?”

“We had lunch, and I was cleaning up, but the kids were going stir crazy so I told them they could play outside for a few minutes. I put the baby down for a nap, then checked on the others. That’s when I saw the backpack on the ground.”

John narrowed his eyes. “The kids were left unattended outside?”

Anger flashed in the woman’s eyes. “The yard is fenced in. I can see it from the window in the kitchen.”

“But not from the baby’s room?” John guessed.

She patted the baby’s back as he started to fuss again. “No. But it only took a minute to put him down.”

John grimaced. “A minute is all it takes for something to go terribly wrong.”

Amelia had to talk to someone. And she didn’t want to bother Sadie with her troubles. She’d been a burden to her sister all her life.

So she left Sadie and the baby and drove straight to see her therapist. She parked on the side of the road in front of the office, but just as she stepped out, a pickup raced by, swerving toward her.

Amelia screamed and jumped behind her car to avoid being hit. Icy sludge and snow splattered all over her.

Shivering, she wiped at the mess as the truck raced away.

She watched it disappear into the fog ahead, her heart pounding. The truck had nearly run her over.

She started trembling from the inside out. Had he done it intentionally?

Or was she being paranoid again?

Shaken, she turned and rushed up to the doctor’s office. She glanced over her shoulder before she entered, searching to see if the truck had come back. But the street was quiet, almost deserted.

Inside, she greeted the receptionist, then knocked on Dr. Clover’s door.

Dr. Clover arched a brow when she entered. “I didn’t realize we had an appointment.”

“We didn’t. But I need to talk.” She was desperate. And paranoid someone had just tried to kill her.

The ticking of the clock echoed in the silence, making her even more edgy.

Dr. Clover motioned for her to sit. “What’s wrong, Amelia?”

Amelia sank onto the couch she’d grown to hate and love at the same time. The heater whirred, the blinds rattling.

“Outside a truck nearly ran me over.”

Alarm sharpened Dr. Clover’s features. “What?”

“When I parked and got out, a truck barreled by and nearly hit me.”

“My God, some drivers are so careless.”

“I’m not sure it was an accident,” Amelia admitted as she shrugged off her wet coat.

“You think someone intentionally tried to hurt you?”

“I don’t know,” Amelia said, starting to doubt herself. The roads were icy. The driver could have hit a slick patch. “But I have felt like someone is following me lately.”

“Are you taking your meds?”

Amelia startled, debating whether to tell the truth. She wasn’t in the mood for a lecture. Finally, she sighed and shook her head. The doctor had insisted on honesty, saying it was the only way she could help Amelia. “I stopped the antidepressants. I couldn’t paint while I was on them.”

Dr. Clover made a low sound in her throat. “Is that why you came to see me? Because you think someone is following you?”

“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “No. In short, my ob-gyn confirmed I gave birth. Then I talked to Ms. Lettie, the nurse who took care of me at the sanitarium, and she admitted I had a son.”

Dr. Clover normally showed no reaction, but her eyes widened. “That must have been a shock.”

“Yes, it was.” Amelia fidgeted, wiping at a drop of mud on her coat. “There’s more. Ms. Lettie said my baby was buried next to the Commander’s daughter, but since he lied about that, I thought he might have lied about my baby, too.”

Worry darkened Dr. Clover’s eyes. “You had the grave exhumed?”

Amelia nodded, the image of the bear haunting her. “Yes, I went to Special Agent John Strong with the TBI, and he arranged it. But the grave was empty.”

“Empty?”

“Yes. That is . . . except for a teddy bear like the one I had as a child.” She picked at another piece of dirt caught in the fibers of her coat. “I mean, that Bessie had.”

Dr. Clover crossed one leg over the other. “Why did you go to John Strong?”

Amelia bit back the truth about seeing John in her dreams. She didn’t want to confess she was having strange dreams that she thought might be prophetic. The doctor might decide she was delusional again and force her back on the medication. Or worse, send her back to the sanitarium.

“I didn’t want to worry my family right now. Besides, I saw him on the news. He’s apparently one of the best when it comes to solving missing persons cases, especially involving children.”

A heartbeat passed, and for some reason, Amelia sensed the doctor’s disapproval.

“Agent Strong sent the stuffed animal and coffin to the lab to process it for evidence.” Amelia shifted. “I have to know what happened to my child. If the Commander sent him somewhere to be in another one of his crazy experiments.”

Dr. Clover studied Amelia for a long moment. “I’m not sure what to say, Amelia. The uncertainty has to be terrifying for you.”

Amelia rubbed her arms to warm herself. The thought of her son suffering like she had chilled her to the bone. “It is.”

She stood and paced. “Ms. Lettie said they stopped giving me the drugs when I was pregnant, but who knows what kind of long-term effects could have been caused by the years I did take them.”

“So you’re worried your baby might not be normal?”

“That’s a possibility I have to consider,” Amelia said.

Understanding flared in her eyes. She stood and gathered Amelia’s hands in her own. “There is one technique we haven’t tried that might help you recover memories of that time.”

Hope budded inside Amelia’s chest. “What technique?”

“It’s called RMT, Recovered Memory Therapy. But . . . ” Worry knitted her brow. “It could be dangerous, Amelia. It involves re-creating the circumstances in which the traumatic event occurred.”

A cold sweat broke out across Amelia’s neck. “You mean giving me the drugs again?”

Dr. Clover nodded. “Yes, and conducting the therapy in the sanitarium.”

Amelia shook her head, fear seizing her. She’d do anything to find the truth.

Anything but that.

“I realize it only takes a minute for a child to disappear,” Terri said sharply. “But we were at home and it was during the daytime.”

“Child predators strike at all hours of the day and night.”

“Listen, Agent Strong, I feel bad enough about this without you reprimanding me.” Her shoulders sagged, and she suddenly looked exhausted, older than her age, which he’d have guessed was early thirties. “But I am honestly trying to help these kids, and I care about them. I grew up in foster care. I know what some of the homes are like.”