Sherryl Woods - Dylan and the Baby Doctor

“Where is he?” Kelsey whispered, her desperation mounting with every second that passed. Unless he’d spent it all on pills, Paul had plenty of money, enough to run to the ends of the earth. She might never find him or her baby.

“Shouldn’t he be here by now?” she asked, edgy with impatience and ever-growing fear.

Lizzy glanced toward the doorway just then and smiled. “Here he is right now.” She stood up, offering her seat opposite Kelsey at the kitchen table. “Dylan, this is Bobby’s mom, Kelsey James. Doctor Kelsey James.”

Kelsey felt her ice-cold hand being enveloped in a strong, reassuring grip. His size registered, too. He was a big man. Solid, with coal-black hair and a grim expression. She focused on his eyes, blue eyes that were clearly taking in everything. She had the feeling that his gaze missed nothing, that he could leave the room and describe every person, every item in it. At the same time there was a distance there, a cool detachment. Funny how she found that reassuring. He was a professional, she reminded herself, just what she needed. The best. He would find Bobby and bring him back. That was all that mattered.

“Tell me what happened,” he suggested in a voice that was surprisingly gentle. He sounded almost as if he truly understood her pain. “Tell me exactly what you did, beginning with the moment you realized your boy was gone. Where was he? How long had he been out of your sight?”

“I’ve already told Justin everything,” she said, not sure she could handle going over it again. It seemed surreal, as if she hadn’t lived through it at all.

“Tell me,” he said insistently. “I might catch something that Justin missed. Or you might remember something else. Every little detail is important.”

He listened intently as Kelsey described everything that had happened, but when she mentioned Paul, something in his attentive expression changed. That disturbing coolness she’d noticed before subtly shifted into what she could only describe as icy disdain. He gazed at her with such piercing intensity that she shivered.

“You have full custody of your son?” he asked, as if it were some sort of crime.

She nodded, unsure why that seemed to unsettle him so.

“When was the last time the father saw him?” he asked, an inexplicable edge in his voice.

“Before we left Miami, about ten months ago. That was our agreement,” she said, not explaining about the other part of that agreement, about her promise not to turn Paul in to the authorities. No one except Lizzy knew about that and no one ever would.

“You believe this was an abduction by a noncustodial parent,” he said, summing up what she’d told him.

“I’m sure of it.”

“Has he threatened to take Bobby before?”

“No, but—”

“Then why are you so certain?”

“I just am. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Bobby wouldn’t go off with a stranger, not without raising a fuss. Besides, I don’t have enemies. I don’t make a lot of money, so a demand for ransom’s hardly likely. If someone wanted money in this town, they’d take an Adams.”

He nodded. He might be an outsider here, just as she was, but he obviously knew who had the power and the fortune.

“You haven’t treated any kids who didn’t make it, whose parents might blame you?” he asked.

“No. Not since Miami.” There had been a few inconsolable parents back then who’d wanted to cast blame on someone, anyone, and she’d been the easiest target. “People who lose a child aren’t always thinking clearly, but there were no malpractice suits. I doubt any of them would pursue me to Texas.”

“Okay, then, let’s assume it’s your ex. Have you got a picture of him? And I’ll need one of Bobby, too. The most recent one you have.”

Relief flooded through her at his concrete suggestions. At last, something she could do. She went for the photo albums she kept in the living room, took out the most recent picture of Paul, then another of Bobby from his birthday party just a few weeks earlier. Ironically, the latest one she had of Paul had been taken on that ill-fated ski trip that had started his downward spiral.

“You’re going to help?” she asked as she handed the pictures to Dylan.

The question had been rhetorical, but for a moment she actually thought he might refuse. His expression was grim. He looked as if he wanted to say no. In fact, the word seemed to be on the tip of his tongue, but with Lizzy and others looking on expectantly, he finally sighed heavily.

“I’ll help,” he said at last.

After he’d gone, Kelsey kept telling herself that was a good thing, that she could count on this man, because Lizzy had said she could. But in her heart she kept wondering about that tiny hint of reluctance. It had something to do with her custody agreement with Paul. She was sure of it. Until she had mentioned that, Dylan Delacourt had been on her side. Now she couldn’t help wondering if he was really on hers…or on Paul’s.

Dylan wasn’t sure which had unsettled him more, gazing into Kelsey James’s worried green eyes and feeling her fear, or discovering that she had sole custody of her son, that she had taken the boy away from his natural father. The former drew him to her, made him sympathetic. The latter made him want to withdraw from the case before he even got started.

He couldn’t help making possibly faulty and unfair comparisons to his own situation. He instinctively lumped Kelsey in with Kit, assuming she too had backed a man into a desperate corner that had cost him his son. All of his own bitterness and resentment came surging back with a new focus: a slim, frightened mother who probably deserved better from him.

In the end, reason—and obligation to the Adamses for their past kindnesses to his sister—won out. There was also the slim chance that Bobby could have been taken by someone other than his father. Until he knew for certain that Bobby was not in real danger, Dylan knew he had no choice. He had to take the case.

Of course, if he hadn’t been persuaded by duty, there was the picture of Bobby, a robust little boy with an endearing grin. He couldn’t help comparing him to Shane, wondering if his son was as healthy and happy as Bobby appeared to be in the picture. No matter what, Dylan knew he couldn’t risk any harm coming to the child because his own personal demons kept him from pitching in to find him. With any luck they would locate Bobby quickly, Dylan’s duty would be done, and he wouldn’t have to spend much time around Kelsey James.

Eager to get away from her and to get started, he muttered an inane reassurance that neither of them believed, then left the crowded kitchen and went off in search of Justin Adams.

Justin might be a small-town sheriff, but he was smart and dedicated. He would have covered all the necessary bases and Dylan saw no need for them to duplicate efforts. Hopefully Justin would feel the same way, rather than going territorial on him the way a lot of cops did when faced with a private eye on their turf.

He found Justin outside by his patrol car, talking to his dispatcher over the radio. He signaled a greeting to Dylan.

“I want every last man on this, okay? Forget the shift roster and call them all in.”

“Got it,” the dispatcher said. “Want me to start calling motels? It could save time.”

“Do it, Becky,” Justin agreed. “Start with the immediate county, then widen it county by county. And make sure I can read your damn notes for once, okay?”

“There is nothing wrong with my handwriting,” she responded tartly. “At least I take notes, unlike some people I could name.”

Dylan would have smiled at the obviously familiar bickering if the circumstances had been different.