Secret Delivery. Delores Fossen

birth father, Neil Franklin.”

      She shook her head. “My relationship with Neil had been over for months before he died. In fact, I ended things with him when I learned I was pregnant and he said he didn’t want to be a father.”

      There were no gaps in those particular memories, including the big blowup when Neil had even questioned if he was indeed the father of her unborn child. That accusation had been more than enough to cause Alana to walk out. But then she’d had to listen to months of her brother saying “I told you so” and trying to pressure her to give the child up for adoption.

      And then all those memories collided with her present situation.

      “Why all these questions about Sean and Neil? Did Sean do something to get me to abandon Joey here at the hospital? Is that why I left?” she demanded.

      Jack didn’t jump to deny it. Nor did he confirm it, either. He took his time answering, and the moment he opened his mouth, his phone rang. He jerked it from his pocket as if he’d been expecting an important call.

      “I have to take this,” he said, and he got up, stepped outside and shut the door.

      Alana wanted to listen to his conversation—it might pertain to her. But Dr. Bartolo put her chart aside and walked closer. “I got your lab results back. You had traces of a drug called Rohypnol in your system.”

      “Rohypnol,” she repeated. “The date rape drug?”

      The doctor nodded and must have noticed that she was on the verge of panicking. “You weren’t sexually assaulted,” he continued. He reached over and began to remove the IV. “But there was enough of the drug in your system to explain your memory loss.”

      God knows how many doses of the Rohypnol she’d been given. The nurse and guard had forced her to take it almost daily. She was certain of that. What Alana wasn’t certain about was discussing it with the doctor. For some reason, she didn’t trust him. Had he done something to make her feel this way? Or was she just being paranoid?

      If so, she had a reason for the paranoia. Someone had also tried to take her from that alley. He’d grabbed her, hard, and was dragging her away when Jack arrived.

      “I delivered your son,” the doctor added a moment later.

      “Yes.” She studied his body language. His forehead was bunched. His breathing, short and a little rough. “I don’t suppose you know why I left the hospital?”

      She expected a quick denial. But it didn’t come. His breathing got even shorter. “You said some things when you were in labor. Maybe it means nothing. But you said someone had run you off the road.”

      Alana forced her mind to the crash. The images were all there. Cold and crisp. Images of her in her car in the water. But nothing of what’d happened moments before impact.

      “I told Jack what you said, and he checked out the creek road again,” the doctor explained. “He didn’t find any tread marks or any other sign to indicate that you had slammed on the brakes or swerved to miss going into the creek.”

      “That proves nothing. Someone could still have been after me,” she quickly pointed out. She winced a little when he pulled the IV needle from her hand.

      “You’re right.” He dabbed the IV puncture with some cotton and then slipped a bandage over it. “Something sure had you spooked. You remember what that was?”

      This suddenly felt like an interrogation. Or a threat to remind her that remembering wouldn’t be a good idea.

      Alana shook her head. “I don’t know. Do you?”

      His head jerked back a little in a gesture of surprise. “Of course not. I told Jack everything that went on and everything you said to me.”

      She wasn’t so sure. “What else did I say?”

      “Some of it was rambling,” he readily answered. But he didn’t say anything for several moments. “I got the feeling you were withholding information, that you were in some kind of trouble. Were you?”

      Probably. But she kept that to herself.

      Alana went back through those memory gaps. If someone had indeed run her off the road, then something had happened to precipitate it. Maybe it was as simple as a case of road rage. Some hotheaded driver had cut her off and caused the accident.

      Yes, that was possible. Better than the alternative. But why hadn’t there been any sign of her slamming on the brakes? And what had she been doing in Willow Ridge?

      “When you were in labor, you mentioned an important meeting,” the doctor continued. He took her chart and jotted down something on it. He didn’t look at her. He kept his focus on whatever he was writing. “Guess you don’t remember that, either?”

      She didn’t, and even though Alana tried hard to recall any details about that, she drew a blank.

      “An important meeting,” Dr. Bartolo repeated. “Maybe it had something to do with your job?”

      This chat was making her more uncomfortable by the minute. She looked around in case she needed an escape route. But that wasn’t necessary. Jack came back through the door.

      Alana cursed the relief she felt at seeing him. For some reason, she trusted him. However, he didn’t extend much trust to her. He shoved his phone back into his pocket and stared at her. He didn’t sit or offer her any more pseudo sympathy.

      “You’re looking at me as if I’m crazy,” she said.

      “Sorry.” But he kept staring at her. “Do the names Ted Moore and Margaret Vargas ring any bells?”

      “No. Should they?”

      “Yeah.” He paused. A long time. “They should.”

      Mercy. Was this another blank spot in her memory? If so, it must be a critical one. “Do they have something to do with Joey?”

      “Not really.” Jack nodded at the doctor, a gesture the two of them must have understood, because the doctor excused himself and left the room.

      This conversation must be about to turn ugly.

      And then it hit her. A horrible thought. “Did the man in the alley go after Joey?”

      “No. Joey’s fine.”

      But she didn’t believe him. “I have to see him. I have to make sure he’s okay. And don’t remind me about this virus. I don’t have to get close to him to make sure he’s safe.”

      He clamped his hand on her arm when she tried to get up. “You aren’t going to see him, Alana.”

      Alana pushed his hand away. “You have no legal right to keep my son from me.”

      “Wanna bet?”

      She froze. Because that didn’t sound like an idle threat. “What does that mean?”

      “It means when you filled out the birth certificate, you listed me as the father.”

      Had she? Yes. She had. Why, though, she didn’t know. “But you’re not his father and a DNA test will prove that.”

      “Biologically, Joey’s not my son, but he is legally. When we couldn’t find you, I petitioned the courts for custody, and since your brother, Sean, was Joey’s next of kin, he agreed. He gave me sole guardianship.”

      She clenched her hands tightly. Alana didn’t doubt that Sean had done this. He’d never wanted her to have the baby. “Well, I can change that. I can petition the courts, too—”

      “No judge will give you custody, Alana.”

      Again, it wasn’t an empty threat. He had something to back it up. “Why not?”

      “Because you weren’t held captive. The guard and the nurse I mentioned. Ted Moore and Margaret Vargas. They’ve contacted