Robin Perini - Finding Her Son

She prayed it would be so.

The door eased open, revealing the man who’d approach her in the mall just a few short months ago. “We had a deal.” His voice was quiet and cold.

Vanessa shivered. She’d expected him to start yelling, and now wished he’d slammed open the door and screamed at her. This deadly anger made her insides quake. Bad things always happened when her daddy got like that.

“I’ll pay you back. I promise.” Vanessa swallowed around the lump in her throat. “I just can’t give her up. I love her.”

“You love her. Really? Well. That’s just too bad. I have a family for her, and they aren’t going to wait.” He thrust a paper toward her. “Sign the form. Now.”

“No.”

“Marie,” he called out the door. “Get in here.”

The portly midwife rushed in. “But Doctor—”

“Do it.”

She sighed and reached for Vanessa’s baby. “I’m sorry, honey.”

“You can’t just take her!”

Vanessa kicked and screamed, holding on to her child, but it was no use. She was too weak from giving birth. “You can’t do this,” she cried as the midwife left the room with the baby. “I’ll tell the police you forced me to sign. They’ll give her back.”

“No, my dear,” the doctor said, his voice deadly soft. “You won’t be telling anyone.”

He moved fast, then grabbed her arm and secured one wrist with a restraint strap. She fought, rolling her body back and forth, scratching his cheek, anything to stop him.

He cursed and slapped her face. Her head snapped back, and by the time she regained her senses, he’d fastened her other hand to the rails of the hospital bed. She arched and twisted against the bindings, but he just smiled, his expression calm as he touched his hand to the cheek where she’d clawed him.

“This could’ve been so easy. You should’ve taken the money. You could’ve had a new life like your slutty friends,” he said.

A sharp prick. She yelped at the sting as he tugged out the needle and untied her.

“What did you do to me?” She sat up, rubbed her freed hands and stared down at her arm where a small drop of blood formed.

“You’ll know soon enough.”

She looked at him, seeing for the first time that the eyes she’d once believed glowed with compassion were blank and hollow. “Let me have my baby. Please.”

Begging him to listen, to do the right thing, suddenly she swayed. Her arms dropped, her head spun. She tried to breathe, but she couldn’t. Something was choking her. She gasped. Oh, dear Lord. What was wrong? She tried to suck in air and clasped at her chest. It felt like someone was sitting on her, suffocating her. Desperately she tried to breathe, but she couldn’t. The doctor’s grin grew wide.

She reached out to him. “Help me. Something’s…wrong.”

“Sign this.” He thrust the paper beneath her hand and placed a pen there. “And I’ll save you.”

She panted, listening to the short gasps as if she floated outside herself. She didn’t have a choice. Somehow she’d get her baby girl back. But she had to stay alive.

Barely able to see the line on the page, she scrawled her name on the paper, then slumped back against the sheets. She reached out to him. “Help me. You promised.”

“That I did. But then, so did you.”

With the signed consent form in his hand, he walked out the door, closing it behind him.

Vanessa couldn’t yell, she couldn’t scream. She stared at the sunshine-yellow curtains, and they morphed into strange shapes and faces. The doctor’s face. He laughed at her. Called her a fool.

And she had been. It was all her fault. What would happen to her baby?

She tried to breathe. She couldn’t. Strange white spots danced in front of her eyes. There was nothing she could do. Nothing.

Please, God. Protect my baby .

Mitch grimaced as he limped into the police department. What a night. And it wasn’t over. He’d called in the hit-and-run. Two reports of assault in less than an hour. He’d never live it down. Especially since the busy downtown street had suddenly gone ultrasilent right after the attack. No witnesses. No nothing.

Just a woman who’d seemed quite satisfied to have been attacked. She’d met his gaze and without blinking had said, “I’ve got them worried. That means I’m onto something.”

Unbelievable.

Half of him admired her tenacity. She scared the spit out of his other half. Come to think of it, she’d acted a lot like his late mother when he or his siblings had been on the short end of trouble. Fearless. Mitch got that. Mama-bear syndrome. Do anything for your child. But with such an overt attempt on her life, Emily’d found more trouble than she realized. She’d made someone very nervous.

She’d even fought leaving. Had wanted to stay, canvas the neighborhood. Only the threat of spending the night in the police station had convinced her to leave. He’d tailed her to confirm she went home and hadn’t doubled back. She was safe—for now. With an unmarked unit watching her, just in case.

He glanced at his watch. Midnight was around the corner. He was on Emily duty first thing in the morning and still had reports to file. He straightened and struggled to hide his awkward stride. At this hour, maybe he could get past the desk sergeant and the SWAT Den without seeing anyone he knew.

His thigh was on fire; his muscles were seizing up. He had less than two months to pass the physical to get his real job back. If he didn’t do something drastic, he’d lose his career.

With a sigh, he sank into the hard wood of his desk chair and massaged his leg. What if he couldn’t go back to SWAT? He wasn’t an investigator. He didn’t like analyzing and waiting. He liked breaking down doors and grabbing the bad guy. No talk. Just action. It’d felt good bringing down Ghost tonight.

“What did you do, Bradford?” Detective Dane Tanner, his temporary supervisor, stalked into the room. “You’re hobbling like an old woman.”

Mitch stiffened at the truth in Tanner’s words. “Nothing. Just a little twinge. What are you doing here this late? I thought high-powered detectives kept banker’s hours.”

“Ever hear of a police radio? I keep tabs on my guys, especially those wet behind the ears like you. I heard from dispatch about your adventures tonight—you bagged this guy, Ghost, for targeting young girls. Good job.” Tanner’s face twisted into a scowl. “Unfortunately, he broke out of holding. A couple of street thugs created a diversion and the perp fought his way out. Put two of our guys in the hospital.”

Mitch shot to his feet. “He got away? You get his prints?”

“No such luck, but we have an APB out on him.” Tanner shook his head. “He’s a dangerous guy. You took a big risk going in alone.”

“I tried to get backup.”

“Yeah, you had a fourteen-year-old kid call 911 and then try to find Vance—who’d just gone off duty, by the way. Better men than you haven’t walked away from psychos like Ghost.”

“Point taken,” Mitch said. His father, Paul Bradford, had been paralyzed in a shootout five years ago. Being a cop and carrying a weapon hadn’t protected him. And his dad hadn’t been trying to fight on an injured leg.

“I hope so. I understand investigating’s not your gig. But until you pass the SWAT physical, you’re stuck with us. You follow our rules. One of which is not to go in without backup. The other is not to reveal your identity to a suspect. In your case, Emily Wentworth.”

“Detective—”

“Don’t even try to tap dance. Lives were on the line. I get it, but you better comprehend how lucky you were.” Tanner crossed his arms, staring Mitch down with a warning the ex-special forces officer clearly expected to be heeded. “Did you at least salvage the Wentworth case?”