Claiming His Family. Ann Peterson Voss

      “So you thought I would use your father’s sins to convince the court you were an unfit mother?”

      “I couldn’t take the chance.”

      His face flushed with anger. Cords of muscle stood out along his neck. “First you believed I was lying about your father, then you believed I would rob my son of a mother. What kind of a rotten SOB do you think I am?”

      “I don’t— I didn’t— I was afraid.”

      “You should have trusted me to do the right thing. You should have damn well told me.”

      She sat still and let his anger buffet her. He was right, she’d known it in her heart all along. She should have told him. Despite her fear. Despite the risk. “I’m here now. I’m telling you now.”

      “Why are you here now, Alyson? Why did you pick tonight of all nights to tell me I have a son?”

      “Because…” She forced the words through the thickness in her throat, through the fear tightening her lips. “Because he’s gone.”

      Chapter Three

      “Gone?” Dex’s heart stuttered in his chest. He shot up from his chair, muscles tensed to fight. “What the hell do you mean?”

      Alyson took in a shaky breath as if trying to hold back tears. “I went into Patrick’s room to check on him, and Smythe grabbed me. He pressed a chloroform-soaked cloth over my face. When I woke up, Patrick was gone. Smythe took him.”

      “Smythe? Are you sure?” Dex had been living and breathing Andrew Clarke Smythe in the months since the DNA match had been made. But to now learn he had a son, and that Andrew Clarke Smythe had kidnapped him, was too surreal to absorb.

      “Smythe called me. Somehow he knew you were Patrick’s father. He took our baby to get back at you for convicting him two years ago.”

      Rage, pure and hot, surged through Dex’s blood. Smythe had kidnapped his son. His son. If the son of a bitch wanted to make things personal, he’d succeeded. And he’d soon wish he hadn’t. If Dex had anything to say about it, the scum would be strung up before daybreak. Crossing to the door in three strides, he left Alyson huddled on the porch. His footsteps thundered down the hall, echoing on the hardwood floor like the beat of war drums. Reaching the library, he circled his desk and reached for the cordless phone perched on the credenza.

      “Wait.”

      Finger poised over the number pad, he looked up into Alyson’s emerald eyes.

      “Smythe told me if we got the police involved, I would never see Patrick again.” Her voice broke. Her eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t let them wind down her cheeks. “If you call the police, he’ll find out. He said he has sources. He could have someone watching us right now.”

      She was probably right about Smythe’s sources. Heir to Smythe Pharmaceuticals, the poor little rich boy had endless money at his disposal. And money could corrupt even the purest police department. Or district attorney’s office. Dex had seen it happen.

      Expelling a long breath, he set the cordless phone on the desk and studied her face in the library’s bright light. Fine lines framed her mouth and eyes. Shadows lurked in the hollows under her cheekbones, making her normally smooth face appear almost gaunt. He’d seen these signs of stress many times in his work. Hell, he’d grown up surrounded by desperation. “So what else did Smythe say?”

      “I have a tape. I recorded part of what he said.” She pulled a tiny cassette from her pocket and held it out to Dex with shaking fingers.

      Dex took the tape from her hand. After rummaging through his desk, he produced a microcassette recorder and slipped the tape inside. He pushed the play button.

      Andrew Smythe’s voice wound through the library, smooth as a snake’s hiss. Dex had heard it many times in press conferences after court, in pleas from prison, and it always sounded the same. No fear. No pity. Nothing but an unfeeling smugness that set Dex’s teeth on edge.

      Much more striking was the sound of Alyson’s voice. So naked. So desperate.

      Dex tried to steel himself against the vulnerability in her voice. He tried to focus on Smythe’s words. On what he was saying. Only when the tape ended did he allow himself to look at her.

      Her eyes searched his, desperate for answers. Answers he couldn’t give.

      He ejected the cassette. “That’s Smythe, all right. But there are no threats on the tape. Nothing I can use to convince a judge to grant an arrest warrant.”

      Her gaze fell to the desktop. “I must not have pressed the button soon enough.”

      “What did Smythe say? Exactly. Think.”

      “He said I should tell you that Patrick is your son.”

      He gritted his teeth. If Smythe hadn’t demanded she tell him about Patrick, he never would have known. That was clear enough. And that knowledge stabbed into him with the force of a sharp blade in malevolent hands.

      He clamped down on the bleeding. What Alyson would or wouldn’t have done wasn’t important anymore. “What else did he say?”

      “That he’d be in touch with us. And he’d let us know what to do next.”

      Dex grimaced. That’s what he was afraid of. Leveling her with hard eyes, he shook his head. “I’m not playing a part in any twisted puppet show Smythe has planned.”

      Her eyes widened. Leaning toward him, she gripped the edge of the desk. “If we do what he says, he’ll give Patrick back.”

      “Smythe has no intention of returning Patrick.”

      “But he said—”

      “I don’t care what he said. He’s not going to give Patrick back to us, even if we play by every one of his damn rules. Smythe wants to humiliate me, to dominate me, to win. That’s what he’s about. Not fairness. Not keeping his word.”

      “He’ll—” She swayed, clutching the desk for balance.

      Dex circled the desk. He slipped his arm around her shoulders and propped her up.

      After guiding her a few steps, he lowered her into a chair. The soft scents of chamomile and roses surrounded him, a bittersweet memory. Love. Trust. Things he’d once hoped they had together. Things they’d never really had at all. Finally he straightened, spun away from her and paced across the floor.

      She gripped the chair’s leather arms and held on. “We can’t take the chance, Dex. We have to do what he says. I can’t lose my baby.”

      “We aren’t going to lose him.” Though his voice barely rose above a whisper, it rang with the determination he felt deep in his gut. “I know Smythe. And what I don’t know, I’m damn well going to find out. I’ll get our son back. If you want to help, you’ll have to trust me for once in your life.”

      Alyson raised her chin. Tears glittered in her eyes, making them sparkle like emeralds. Her lips tightened. “Why? What do you want me to do?”

      Just as he’d thought. She didn’t trust him any more now than she had the day he’d told her that her father was selling plea bargains. An ache crept up his spine and settled in his shoulders. More than a year had passed since he’d last seen Alyson. His feelings of bitterness and betrayal should be dead and buried by now. But they’d returned the moment he’d opened the door tonight and seen her distraught face. Smelling her scent and hearing the vulnerability in her voice had only deepened the ache.

      And now to learn he had a son. They had a son. Together…

      Pressure constricted his chest, tighter than a steel band. He shoved the thoughts and feelings aside. He couldn’t let himself think about what having a son might mean. He had to focus. He had to formulate some kind of plan. And the first part of that plan was to