The Cop's Missing Child. Karen Whiddon

      

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      “I got a call from the stalker today.”

      A sharp intake of breath as Mac leaned forward was his only reaction. Pretending his nearness didn’t affect her, she relayed the conversation.

      “Are you sure that was wise? What if this person has grown more unstable? What if she’s dangerous? You know she said you would pay.”

      “I’ve always known this person is unstable.”

      Agitated, as much by how badly she wanted to touch him as she was by the situation, she jumped from her chair and began to pace.

      “Why do you think she’d be breaking in to my house and calling me?”

      A muscle worked in Mac’s jaw. “You do realize you are putting yourself in danger?”

      Swallowing hard, she boldly met his gaze. “It’s time to end this, once and for all. I’m counting on you to keep me safe.”

      Dear Reader,

      Losing someone is difficult and painful. I can’t imagine losing my spouse and then almost immediately after, my child. But that’s what Mac Riordan goes through when his wife is killed in a car accident and their newborn baby is stolen from the hospital. He will stop at nothing to find his son and get him back.

      Loving someone means wanting what’s best for them. And when Mac finds the child he believes is his with a woman who clearly loves him, how can he rip the boy away from the only mother he’s ever known? Add a pinch of danger from someone else who believes the child is hers and you have an emotional story fraught with danger.

      Writing this story was a lot of fun. I adored exploring the various emotions of Mac and Emily as they dance around each other, learning to trust, daring to dream, hoping to love. And when danger threatens all they hold dear, watching as they joined ranks to protect the little boy they both love was thrilling and inspiring.

      I hope you enjoy reading The Cop’s Missing Child as much as I enjoyed writing it!

      Sincerely,

       Karen Whiddon

      About the Author

      KAREN WHIDDON started weaving fanciful tales for her younger brothers at the age of eleven. Amidst the Catskill Mountains of New York, then the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, she fueled her imagination with the natural beauty that surrounded her. Karen now lives in north Texas, where she shares her life with her very own hero of a husband and three doting dogs. Also an entrepreneur, she divides her time between the business she started and writing. You can e-mail Karen at [email protected] or write to her at PO Box 820807, Fort Worth, TX 76182. Fans of her writing can also check out her website, www.karenwhiddon.com.

      The Cop’s

       Missing Child

      Karen Whiddon

      www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MILLS & BOON

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      To my family, because they are above all the most important part of my life.

       Chapter 1

      The bright sun felt warm on his skin. If he’d been here for no reason other than a desire to enjoy the weather, Mac Riordan would have stopped and turned his face up to let the bright rays try to heat blood that these days always seemed chilled. Instead, he glanced around while keeping his quarry in sight, taking in the lush greenness of the park crowded with citizens enjoying the early spring air.

      He couldn’t believe the hunter’s rush he felt at this planned-for encounter. Finally, after all this time, he’d meet the woman who had, inadvertently or not, stolen everything he had left to live for.

      He’d planned this carefully, just happened to take a stroll along the tree-lined, paved walking path when the very woman he’d come to town to find strode past him on her daily walk—Emily Gilley. He’d been watching her for a week, after all, and figured an accidental meeting in the park would be a great way to meet her.

      True, if he wanted this to appear unintentional, keeping up with her confident pace without looking as though he was stalking her might prove difficult, though not impossible.

      He doubted she’d find him suspicious. From what he’d heard about the east Texas town of Anniversary, everyone was friendly and trusting and looked out for each other. If this was true, then Emily Gilley would have no reason to worry about a friendly stranger.

      He allowed himself the slightest of grim smiles. If only she knew.

      So far, he’d been careful. After all, he’d only been in town for three weeks. It was just long enough to establish his brand-new trucking business and to put out a few feelers about her, the woman he’d spent several years trying to locate: Emily Gilley, twenty-nine-year-old widow of one of the most notorious drug dealers on the Eastern Seaboard. She’d changed her name, taking back her mother’s maiden name Gilley, and altered both the cut and the color of her hair, all to help her disappear. But for someone with the far-flung resources to which he had access, finding her had been a matter of time and a tenacious effort. He was fortunate to still have a lot of the tools from his law enforcement days at his disposal.

      Her long, blond locks were now dark, short and spiky. Instead of designer fashions, she wore clothing that looked off the rack at a big bin department store. She’d gone from a glamorous life in Manhattan to this: a tiny lakefront community ninety miles east of Dallas.

      As he hurried around a bend at the end of the trail, trying not to appear in too much of a rush, he nearly ran into her. She’d stopped at the weathered wooden bench that marked the entrance to the paved parking lot of Sue’s Catfish Hut, which was crowded with lunchtime patrons.

      She was stopped and turned to face him, apparently willing to wait for him to catch up.

      This was going even better than he’d hoped, he thought with some satisfaction. And then he got a look at her annoyed expression.

      Hands on her hips, she glared at him, her brown eyes full of anger mixed with only the barest hint of fear. “What do you want? Stop following me! If you’re trying to creep me out, you’re succeeding admirably.”

      He dipped his chin, sending her an abashed smile he hoped she’d find reassuring. “My apologies. I had no idea this was a private trail.”

      Instead of growing flustered, she shook her head, sending her shaggy spiked hair rippling. “It’s not. But I walk here every day on my lunch break, and I know almost everyone in town. Every time I look up, you’re right behind me. You never pass me or fall back. And while this is the first time