Her Christmas Hero (18 page)

Where in the hell was Levi? He sent another text, wanting to throw the phone out the window. Instead, he stood and stretched again, hating the waiting. Suddenly the front door was flung open and Jenna ran to her car, buttoning her blouse, tears streaming down her face. The Corvette revved up and spun out of the driveway, tires squealing.

What was that about? Obviously, they'd had a big argument. Quinn resumed his seat, his eyes glued to Phil's. About thirty minutes later, the garage door went up and he put luggage into the backseat of the car. The nanny came out and placed baby things inside, and then the door went down.

Phil was getting ready to leave, so why didn't he leave
the door up? That puzzled Quinn. He was ready to sprint downstairs as soon as Phil got into his car with Dillon. But it didn't happen. Quinn kept waiting.

He was so engrossed with the scene that he didn't hear Levi come in. He jumped straight up when the P.I. spoke.

“Where in the hell have you been? I've sent a dozen messages.” Quinn's voice was sharp with frustration.

Levi pulled up the extra chair. “Calm down. This wasn't easy.”

Quinn blew out a breath and plopped back into his seat. “What happened?”

“I didn't want to spook 'em so I had to appear as a normal customer.”

“You didn't…?” Quinn lifted an eyebrow.

“Hell, no. I'm not sleeping with a hooker, not even for you.” Levi stretched out his legs. “Seems Candy is very busy, and I had to wait. And the whole time the madam was shoving all these other women at me. I couldn't call or text because they were watching me like a hawk. The business is exclusive, very private, very confidential. I only got in by using Phil's name.”

“And?”

“When I finally got to see her, I told her I wanted what Phil got because he always bragged about her. She was leery at first and had to go talk to the madam. What it comes down to is sex and drugs. Phil's preference is heroin at a whopping cost of five grand. I told her no way and got the hell out of there.”

Suddenly, Quinn's chest felt lighter. “You have this on tape, right?”

“Damn straight. I had to hide the mic in my hat but I got every word she said.”

Quinn reached for his jacket on the back of his chair.
“I'm going to call Judge Norcutt. You keep an eye on the place. Phil put luggage in his car a little while…” His voice trailed off as he saw the nanny come out, get in her car and drive away.

“What the hell?” Quinn ran a hand through his hair. “Why is she leaving?”

“There are two nannies,” Levi replied. “Maybe the other one is on the way.”

Quinn shook his head. “Something's not right. I don't like Dillon being in the house without the nanny.”

“Relax,” Levi advised. “Let's see what happens.”

Quinn eased back into his chair, knowing Phil wouldn't physically harm his own son. In the meantime Quinn tried the judge's number and was told she wasn't taking calls until after the holidays. Damn it! He'd have to find a way around that.

Darkness crawled in like a lazy cat settling over the neighborhood. A light was on downstairs and one upstairs. Otherwise there was no activity at Phil's. No other nanny arrived and Phil didn't get in his car and leave.

Quinn stood. “I'm going over there. Something's wrong.” He could feel it in his gut.

“I'm right behind you,” Levi said. “But first I'm calling the police so we do everything legally.”

When they reached the front door, a police car drove up. Quinn rang the bell. No response. He called on his cell. No one answered.

“A baby's inside and no one's responding,” Quinn told the officers.

“Let me call my supervisor.” One officer stepped away to talk on his phone. The other one searched around outside, looking for a way in.

“We have permission to kick in the door.” The officer put away his phone. And the two uniformed men gave it
their best shot, but the door was strong and heavy. Quinn and Levi gave them a hand and it took the strength of all four men to bring the door down.

Quinn was the first inside. He stopped short in the living room. Phil lay on the sofa, a needle stuck in his arm.

“Oh, my God!” Quinn didn't know if he was dead or alive.

“Dillon!”

Quinn shot up the stairs as an officer called for an ambulance. When he reached the landing, he heard loud wails, and bolted through the nursery door. Dillon stood up in his crib, holding on to the railing, crying his little heart out.

“Hey, buddy.” Quinn lifted him out and Dillon quieted down, rubbing his wet eyes. Quinn realized that wasn't the only thing wet. Dillon needed a diaper change. Grabbing a clean one from a bag on the end of the crib, he laid Dillon in the bed and removed the soiled diaper and his all-in-one pajamas.

“Ma-ma-ma-ma,” Dillon cooed as Quinn scooted the fresh diaper beneath him.

“Bear with me, buddy. I'm new at this.” Oh, the diaper had tabs. How efficient. All the time he dressed Dillon he tried not to think about the situation downstairs. How could Phil do that? And why would he?

“Ma-ma-ma-ma.” Dillon waved his arms around.

“I'm taking you to her just as soon as I can.” He gathered Dillon, freshly dressed, into his arms just as a middle-aged woman with a large bag entered.

“I'm Gina Hardy with Child Protective Service. I'm here to take the boy.”

“No,” Quinn said, wondering where in the hell she'd
come from so quickly. But then he remembered CPS was al ways notified when a child was involved. “He has a mother who's waiting for him.”

“Sorry.” She shook her head. “Phil Rutherford has custody, and until I get a court order saying otherwise the baby goes with me.”

“Listen, this child needs to be with his mother. It's Christmas.”

“You think I want to be working on Christmas?” She lifted an eyebrow. “If I don't follow the rules, I could lose my job.”

Quinn knew about the rules. He was a lawyer. Reluctantly, he handed over Dillon. “Where can I reach you? I'll be picking him up as soon as possible.”

While juggling Dillon, she pulled out a card from her coat pocket. “It's Christmas Eve. You're not going to get a judge tonight or tomorrow.”

“Don't bet on it, Ms. Hardy.” He kissed Dillon's head. “Hang tight, little one, you're going home for Christmas.”

Placing Dillon in his bed, she said, “Consider yourself a miracle worker, huh?”

“No. Just a damn good lawyer.”

“Heaven help us.” She started to collect Dillon's things.

Quinn let that slide and looked at the card. “You can be reached at this number at all times?”

“Yes,” she replied, taking the card and turning it over. “That's my address. He'll have to stay with me until after Christmas. Then I'll find a foster home for him.”

“Don't bother.” Quinn swung toward the door. “I'll see you later.”

“Yeah, right…” Her words followed him out the door.

Downstairs, Phil was being wheeled out of the condo on a stretcher. “Is he alive?” Quinn asked Levi.

“The paramedic found a pulse and they're getting him to an E.R.”

Quinn ran both hands through his hair. “Why did he do something like that with Dillon right upstairs?”

“You can never tell with a drug user,” Levi said. “They're unpredictable.”

“Mr. Ross.”

Quinn turned to an officer, who had a lot of questions. Quinn told him everything he knew about Jenna and the nanny leaving, and what Levi had uncovered about Candy. The officer wrote everything down and they moved out of the way for the crime unit to gather evidence.

“If that's it for the night—” Levi straightened his hat “—I'm going home. Someone told me it was Christmas.”

“Yep. It's slipping right by us,” Quinn remarked.

“Call if you need anything.”

“I'm going to break down a judge's door on Christmas Eve. Want to come with me?”

“I'll pass,” Levi replied as they walked outside into the cool night air. “But call if you need me to get you out of jail.”

Quinn forced a smile. “Thanks for all your help.”

“Anytime.” Levi strolled across the street to his truck, parked in the garage of the condo.

Quinn drew a hard breath. The wind now rustled through the oaks with a distant, chilling sound that went right through him. What a hell of a way to spend Christmas. He wanted to call Britt, just to hear her voice, but he had to tell her this kind of news in person. And he couldn't tell her CPS had Dillon. That would be too painful. He wouldn't call until he had good news.

Pulling out his cell, he punched in Philip's number. He
had no idea if the man was in Austin or Colorado, but he had to know about his son.

“What do you want, Quinn?” The gruff voice came in clearly. “You're not getting any favors from me.”

Quinn ignored the tone. “It's about Phil.”

“What about him? Is he with you? He was supposed to have been here three hours ago.”

“Where are you?”

“At my house in Rob Roy in Austin. My wife's kids are here for Christmas and we're waiting on Phil. He won't answer his damn phone. You better not have pulled anything.”

So Phil wasn't going out of town, just to his father's. It was all a ruse to get Britt to capitulate.

“Phil's had an accident.” Quinn didn't know how else to say it. “He's in the E.R. at Saint David's. You need to get there as soon as you can.”

“What kind of accident?”

“Just get there.” Quinn clicked off, not willing to say anything else. Philip wouldn't believe him, anyway. He had to find out for himself.

Quinn ran across the street and grabbed his briefcase out of his car. Standing at the large island in the kitchen at the condo, he withdrew papers and went over them, writing in dates. He'd had the papers drawn up for days and now he was going to use them.

When he'd finished, he called the judge again, but got the same annoying message. He then called Denise. She knew everything about the lawyers and judges in Austin. Within minutes he had the good judge's home address.

He closed his briefcase, locked the condo and headed for his car. Backing out, he took a last look at Phil's house. A sadness pulsed inside him and he wondered whether, if he had gone over sooner, he would have been able to stop
him. Probably not. Quinn had a feeling Phil was lost the day he'd started using heroin. Still, it wasn't an easy thing to deal with. Quinn hoped he'd make it.

As he drove, Quinn couldn't stop thinking about Phil, and he found himself heading to the hospital. An antiseptic smell greeted him as he walked though the sliding doors. Nurses and doctors hurried here and there, and Quinn moved out of their way.

He spotted Philip and several family members he didn't recognize waiting in a secluded area. When Philip spotted him, he hurried over.

“How's Phil?”

“He died a little while ago,” Philip said without emotion, without one ounce of sadness.

“I'm sorry.” Quinn felt a tightness in his chest.

“You tried to tell me and I wouldn't listen.”

“You had no idea?”

“He had some problems in college, but I thought that was all behind him.” The man's voice cracked, the first sign he was holding everything inside like the strong man he was supposed to be. “The girlfriend, whatever her name is, said they started doing drugs in the early afternoon, but Phil wouldn't stop. He said he wanted to take the edge off. He was meeting my new wife and her two kids for the first time. The son works in the U.S. Attorney General's office and the daughter is a special prosecutor for the FBI. Both Harvard graduates. Both outstanding young people. I told Phil he'd better get his act together. I guess I pushed too hard.” Philip blinked as if he had something in his eye. “The girlfriend said she tried to get him to stop, and he hit her. She left. The nanny said they packed everything in the car, ready to leave, and then Phil changed his mind. When she asked questions, he ordered her out. I guess he was bent on a night of destruction.”

“With his son upstairs.”

“Yeah.” Philip wiped a hand across his face. “I'm sorry about that.”

The man didn't ask about Dillon or where he was. That irked Quinn. “A CPS worker took Dillon. I'm on my way to Judge Norcutt to get a court order to return the boy to his mother.”

Philip only nodded.

“Please don't throw up any roadblocks, because you don't want to meet me in court on this one. I might get a reprimand or have my license revoked by the Texas Bar, but—”

Philip held up a hand. “I'm not doing anything about you or the boy. I don't have any strength left.” He glanced back at the waiting group. “Now I have to try and explain this horrendous night to my new family.”

That seemed to be the man's top priority, but Quinn wanted to be clear. “Dillon stays with his mother…permanently.”

“Yes…yes.”

Quinn watched a man he'd once idolized, and thought how money and power could destroy character, morals and families. Philip had aged ten years in the last few minutes. His face was haggard, his vision dull, and he would spend the rest of his life wondering what he could have done differently to save his son.

“I am sorry about Phil,” was all Quinn could say.

“Thank you. I know you mean that.”

“Yes, sir.” Quinn walked away, hoping that Philip's new family could help him find a measure of peace.

 

T
WENTY MINUTES LATER HE
knocked on the judge's door. A young woman in her thirties opened it.

“Quentin Ross to see Judge Norcutt,” he said without preamble.

“I'm sorry. She's not seeing anyone but family tonight.”

Quinn stepped into the foyer without an invitation. Voices and laughter could be heard in another room. “Tell her or I'm interrupting the party.”

The woman scowled at him, but turned and went into a room on the left. In a minute the judge came out, dressed in a white gown and heels. She looked different than the stern official he was used to.

“What is this, Mr. Ross? I resent you interrupting my evening.”

“Phil Rutherford died of a heroin overdose tonight.” He didn't feel the need to sugarcoat it.

“What?” She sank into a high-back chair next to a small entry table.

He laid the custody papers on the table next to her. “CPS took Dillon Rutherford. All I need from you is your signature on this order returning full custody of Dillon to his mother.”

“Of course. I'm so sorry.”

He handed her a pen, not willing to be lenient. “You should be. You took a baby away from a loving mother and put him in the hands of a drug addict.”

She scribbled her name in the appropriate places and stood. “I made the best call I could with the evidence I had. And you, Mr. Ross, were the Rutherfords' attorney.”

He picked up the papers. “Not by choice. But yes, ma'am, there's enough blame to go around.” He turned toward the door. “Have a nice Christmas.”

In his car, he glanced at his watch. Eleven o'clock. He hoped Ms. Hardy was still up.

 

B
RITT SAT ON THE SOFA
in the dark with only the Christmas tree lights on, her cell clutched in her hand. Why hadn't Quinn called? What had happened? The questions went round and round in her brain like naughty children on a merry-go-round.

She stretched out and rested her head on a cushion. Dillon's toys were under the tree waiting for him. But would he ever open them? A sob wedged in her throat and she swallowed.

Quinn, please call.

No news was good news, she kept telling herself.

Flipping onto her side, she forced herself to think about something else. Her mother had wanted to spend the night, but Britt made her and Onnie go home. She planned to leave early in the morning to spend Christmas with them. Tonight she had to stay in Austin so she'd know if Phil had taken Dillon out of the state.

Quinn would call.

She just had to wait.

Strangely, her mother wasn't angry with Onnie for pulling another stunt. Mainly because it had given Britt a chance to see Dillon on Christmas Eve. Carin had said that if she had known what Onnie was going to do, she would have helped her. They laughed about that. Britt and Carin agreed that they were going to be more lenient with Onnie, and maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't feel the need to pull such stunts. Knowing Onnie, though, she would always keep their lives interesting.

Britt went into the bedroom and grabbed Quinn's pillow. She still hadn't washed the pillowcase. It reminded her of him. Taking it back to the sofa, she curled up with it. She breathed in his manly scent and drifted off to sleep.

The faint ringing of a doorbell woke her. She sat up, pushing her hair out of her eyes.
Was that…?
The doorbell
rang again.
It was.
She shot to the entry and glanced through the peephole, and her heart hammered loudly in her ears. “Oh, my. Oh, my.” She couldn't get the door opened fast enough.

Quinn, looking a little ragged and tired, but gorgeous, stood there holding the most beautiful sight in the world. Her baby—Dillon—was asleep on his shoulder.

“Oh, my baby.” She scooped him out of Quinn's arms and they walked into the apartment. Britt sat on the sofa, smoothing Dillon's hair and loving the feel of him.

“What happened?” she asked.

Quinn took a long breath and told her a story that sent chills up her spine.

“He's…he's dead?” She could hardly say the words.

“Yes. You were right all along. He's been doing drugs for a long time. The judge awarded you full custody of Dillon, so you don't have to worry anymore.”

Britt's eyes met Quinn's in the light from the tree. “Thank you for being there for Dillon. And for me.”

Quinn glanced at the tree. “Dillon is where he should be, home with you and ready for Christmas.”

“I'll never be able to thank you enough.”

“Just be happy.”

She kissed Dillon's cheek. “When you rescued me from the flooding creek, I thought of you as my hero.” Her gaze caught his. “You're always going to be my hero. My Christmas hero.”