Motive: Secret Baby. Debra Webb

he obviously considered all that she had told him and whatever he had heard since she was found.

      “We have no way of knowing where you were held,” he began, his tone somber.

      Her chest tightened as she nodded her agreement.

      “We have no idea who held you or why.”

      Another nod of concurrence wasn’t necessary, and that was just as well. If she moved she might very well throw up. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d eaten, but the nagging desire to empty her stomach persisted, gained force with each passing second.

      “And—” his gaze leveled fully on hers “—we don’t know if the baby survived beyond birth.”

      Ice slid along every nerve ending, hardened in her blood. “There’s no reason to think otherwise,” she argued.

      Was that pity in his eyes? Or regret?

      “You said yourself that the experts believe you were drugged for all those months…”

      He didn’t have to say more.

      He was right.

      Maybe someone at the hospital had even mentioned that possibility to her but she had wiped it out. Denied the potential.

      No. She refused to consider it now. “Lots of babies survive prolonged drug use by their mothers.” Mothers hooked on illegal drugs delivered living babies all the time. There were problems, but at least the child was alive.

      “My baby is alive.” She dredged up her courage and exiled the fear and uncertainty.

      With one downward sweep of his dark lashes, the regret or pity she’d noted vanished and was replaced by the fierce indifference of the beast. “How do you know? The odds are not in your favor. Give me one valid reason we should even bother with a search and I’ll do all within my power to find your child.”

      Your child, not our child. Fine, if that was the way he wanted to play it.

      “I only have one,” Camille said, pushing to her feet so that she could look him squarely in the eyes. She swayed but steadied herself in time to prevent his reaching out to her. “I can feel it. Right here.” She released the blanket, allowing it to puddle around her feet, and pressed both hands over her heart. “My baby is alive. He’s out there waiting for me to bring him home.”

      The undamaged corner of his mouth twitched. “And you know the child is a boy.”

      Camille nodded. “Yes.” She hadn’t actually come to that conclusion until that moment, but somehow she knew with every fiber of her being that the baby was a boy. Her little boy.

      He sighed, the sound weary, reluctant. “All right.” He pushed the tousled hair back from his face. “We’ll start with who found you. We need as much information as possible.”

      That would be a waste of time. “Detective Lagios has gone over what he saw that night a hundred times. He was in a car chase with the Seaside Strangler. It was dark and rainy. The fog was thick. He almost missed seeing me lying there on the side of the road. He carried me to the clinic, and that’s all there is.”

      “I remember.” Nicholas stepped closer, bent down, picked up the blanket and draped it around her shoulders once more. “If I’m going to help you, there’s one thing we must get straight right from the beginning.”

      He was going to help her? She shivered. His touch did that to her. It made her furious that he affected her so easily. But then, he was the father of her child.

      And the only man she’d ever loved.

      Don’t even go there. She needed his help, nothing more. She couldn’t go back down that path.

      “What’s that?” She fisted her fingers into the blanket and pulled it close.

      “We will do this my way.” He held up a hand when she would have protested. “No negotiations.”

      “Fine.” Anything. She only cared that they got started.

      “We’ll start first thing in the morning.”

      Tomorrow? No! “We have to start now.” Didn’t he get it? Her baby was out there. The idea that he hadn’t been fed…or bathed…tore at Camille’s heart. “Right now, Nicholas. No negotiations,” she reiterated, using his words.

      “It’s after midnight,” he said quietly. “We can’t storm into a person’s house at this time of night and hope to achieve cooperation.”

      Like she had done? She hadn’t considered the time. She’d come straight here as soon as she’d given her parents the slip.

      “But—”

      Banging on the front door made her jump. Her heart rocketed into her throat. Had her father tracked her here? He would not be happy. She hadn’t told her parents who the real father was yet…she’d let them believe the child was Grant’s. It was easier.

      Now who was the coward?

      Before she could mull over that idea, Nicholas had strode to the window next to the door and peered out past the curtain.

      “It’s Chief Swanson.”

      Goose bumps spilled across her skin. The chief thought she had hurt her baby. That she’d done the unspeakable. Had her father sent him here to bring her home?

      More banging on the door jerked her from the troubling thoughts.

      “Sterling, it’s Chief Swanson. I need to speak with you!”

      Camille didn’t know what to do. Should she hide?

      Nicholas held her gaze another moment. “Is there anything else I should know?” he asked.

      She wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but she shook her head.

      He turned his attention to the door and opened it. “It’s late,” he said to the chief.

      Swanson removed his hat and shook himself to send the water flying from his overcoat before stepping across the threshold. “This couldn’t wait.” His gaze landed on Camille and he blinked, clearly startled. “Miss Wells,” he said with a dip of his head.

      “Chief.” She couldn’t keep the antagonism out of that one word. How could this man, a man who had known her for most of her life, believe she’d hurt or abandoned her child?

      Nicholas closed the door and folded his arms over his broad chest. “What couldn’t wait?”

      The chief turned his hat in his hands as if he didn’t look forward to passing along whatever he’d come here to say. “Someone has leaked your identity.”

      The news sent a tremor of fear through Camille. Though Nicholas looked unfazed, she was certain he had to be worried as well.

      “How did that happen?” he demanded. “Only you, Lagios and the village’s legal counsel knew.”

      The chief pressed his lips together and moved his head solemnly from side to side before admitting, “I can only assume someone overheard a telephone conversation between me and Andrei.” He blew out a burdened breath. “I hate to think that any of my deputies would have done such a thing, but there’s just no other explanation. We both know that most folks around here, my staff included, aren’t going to feel any sympathy for you.”

      Camille’s shoulders sagged with the weight of what this meant. The citizens of Raven’s Cliff would not be happy that they had again been misled by one of their own. Between her father’s betrayal, Fisher’s and Gibson’s, the whole village was overwhelmed. One more infraction might just send any number of normally good citizens over the edge. Battle-fatigued already from a serial killer, a mad scientist and a terrorist group, anything could happen.

      “I received a dozen calls in the past two hours,” Swanson explained. He looked from Nicholas to Camille and back. “They’re already