Peekaboo Baby (4 page)

“No hurry.” Ryan waited until they were both inside before he continued. “My driver has the night off, but if he can fix it in the morning, I'll have him bring it out to you.”

She gave him a considering stare and fastened her seat belt. “Let's get something straight. I appreciate the ride—I really do—but I'd prefer if you didn't try to be nice to me.”

Ryan nodded, actually understanding, and he started the car and drove away.

Sheesh.

His heart actually started to race.

“Well, I suppose I could try to accuse you of a few more crimes,” he joked. Not because he felt jovial but because his voice partly covered up the sounds of the storm. “That'd keep things from being nice.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “I'd prefer no chitchat, either.”

Okay. So his diversion had struck out for both of them. “Fair enough. After all, we're not exactly in a chitchat relationship, are we?”

“No,” she quickly agreed.

But they were in some sort of relationship. An odd one but a relationship all the same. That strangeness had begun with her impromptu visit and had bumped up a few notches with her reaction to Adam's picture.

“For the record, I don't believe the technology exists for cloning a human embryo,” Ryan said. “And even if it did, why would a clinic steal the DNA needed for the embryo? Egos being what they are, I'm sure there would be plenty of volunteers who'd want to replicate themselves.”

He waited, going back over his argument and hoping it made sense.

“You're right,” she said, sounding relieved. But not totally convinced.

Ryan was on the same page with her.

If, and it was huge
if,
the medical staff wanted to cover up an illegal cloning procedure, they might use
whatever DNA they had available. Plus, they might not want to use genetic material that could be traced back to anyone specifically. In other words, it possibly made sense to use a deceased donor.

Hell.

That put a rock-hard knot in his stomach. He couldn't bear the thought that anyone had used his son for medical experiments. It reopened the nightmare all over again. The pain of losing Adam and his wife was suddenly as fresh, as brutal, as it had been that stormy afternoon of the accident.

He tried—and failed—to stop the memories. The slow-motion, dreamlike feel of the call from the hospital. His frantic arrival. Ryan remembered the sterile smell, the look of pity on the ER doctor's face. First, the doctor had pronounced his son dead, and then fifteen minutes later, his wife had lost her own fight for life. The entire time lapse between that first call and those last words was less than an hour.

And in those minutes, Ryan's life had changed forever.

“I'm sorry,” he heard Delaney say.

For a second he was afraid he'd voiced his grief aloud and that she was offering him sympathy. He could handle a lot of things, but sympathy wasn't one of them. He preferred her venom to that.

“I shouldn't have come,” she continued. So no sympathy. At least none expressed anyway. Merely a further explanation of her visit. “Not without proof, and proof
is something I'll never get, because this has all been just a really bad scare.”

A really bad scare?

Not exactly his take on things.

A scare maybe for her because, as a parent, she'd no doubt wonder if the hypothetical cloning had done anything to harm her son. However, for Ryan the whole ordeal hadn't been as much of a scare as it had been a huge setback to his healing. For one moment, one too-short moment, he'd considered the possibility that Adam was alive, that he'd been given a second chance.

A chance that was snatched away once reality set in.

Because there were no second chances.

Now, what was left was the aftermath, and Ryan knew that the aftermath was the hard part. In fact, the only thing harder was the question he'd been aching to ask her.

“Does Adam resemble your son?”

He waited.

Held his breath.

And would have prayed if he'd known what to pray for.

It obviously wasn't an easy question for Delaney. She sat there in silence. The only sound was the rhythmic slap of the wipers, the rain and their uneven breathing.

“It's hard to say,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “In that picture, your son was so tiny. Mine was born full-term. Eight pounds, seven ounces. He had chubby cheeks. Still does,” Delaney added in a whisper.

Full-term. One of the joys of parenthood that Ryan had never gotten to experience. But then, Adam's life had been so short, that neither he nor his son had experienced a lot of things.

While he gave her answer some thought, he tested the high beams of his headlights, but they merely bounced back the reflection of the rain. Ryan switched back to low beams and fastened his attention on the dark, slick road that would take them to the highway.

“You don't happen to have a picture of your son, do you?” Ryan asked.

“No.” Her response was as fast as the bolt of lightning that slashed on the horizon in front of them.

She was lying.

And she was really bad at it.

Her voice actually cracked. There was, no doubt, a picture or two tucked inside her wallet. What new mother wouldn't carry around photos of her baby? Still, Ryan had no intentions of calling her on that lie. In a way, he welcomed it. Because if he saw a photo of her son, he'd scrutinize it and pick it apart until he forced himself to see something.
Anything.
That would only cause the hope to grow.

There was no room left in his heart for hope.

“I don't know if my father ever contacts you,” she said. Out of the corner of his eye, Ryan watched her twist the trio of rings she had on her thumb, pinkie and
middle fingers of her right hand. The one on her middle finger had a tiny jeweled butterfly charm dangling from it. “But if he does, I'd prefer that you not mention anything about this visit.”

“Your father only contacts me through his lawyers. And the last thing I'd discuss with him or anyone else is what happened tonight.”

“Thank you.” She paused and did more of that nervous fidgeting with her fingers. Delicate fingers. For that matter, a delicate face. Not drop-dead gorgeous, but attractive in a woman-next-door sort of way. Unfortunately, he found that appealing.

Even though that hadn't been the case until tonight.

“But you will check up on Dr. Keyes and the embryologist, won't you?” Delaney asked.

“Absolutely. If there's some kind of scam, I'll find out.”

She blew out a long breath, probably not from relief. By now, she was probably kicking herself for even coming to the estate.

He understood how she felt.

There was another flash of lightning, and as the white-hot spear sliced through the darkness, Ryan thought he saw something on the road just ahead. A shadow, maybe. Maybe one of the horses had gotten out of the pasture. He automatically leaned in closer to the windshield, trying to look through the rain and the murky night to determine what it was.

But it was too late.

The dark-colored car came out of the thick curtain of rain. Not on the other side of the road, either.

Right at them.

Ryan heard Delaney scream. A sound of terror that he was sure he would remember for the rest of his life.

If he had a rest of his life, that is.

As he swerved to the right, it occurred to him that this could turn out to be a fatal accident. He knew what was out there.

A deep, six-foot-wide irrigation ditch.

Almost certainly overflowing with rainwater.

A second later, Ryan took out the almost certainly. Even though he tried to keep the car on the road, he wasn't successful. They hit the narrow shoulder of soggy, slick gravel, skidded and then plunged right into the watery ditch.

One second Delaney was breathing.

Then, she wasn't.

The air bag hit her face and chest. The impact of the collision into the ditch, coupled with that slam, knocked the breath right out of her. Before she could react, she felt the icy cold water begin to gush into the car, spilling onto her feet and legs.

Reality quickly set in.

They were no longer on the road. The car was on its side, her side, harshly angled into a gaping ditch. The collision had crushed in her door, so much so that it vised against her right shoulder.

Trapping her.

If she didn't do something fast, she was going to die.

She forced herself not to panic. No easy feat. Her heart was already pounding, and adrenaline was pumping through her.

Frantically, Delaney batted back the milky-white air
bag so she'd have some room to maneuver and so she could see. Beside her, she felt Ryan do the same. She wasn't successful. With each jab of her fist, each slam of her hands, the air bag shifted, but there was no place for it to go. And along with the crushed-in interior, it was literally holding her in place.

The water didn't cooperate, either. It got deeper. Fast. It came in not as a trickle but a flood. Rushing into the car through the edges of the windows. The doors. And from the floor. Filling it. It rose past her knees. To her waist.

And it just kept on coming.

Along with it came the panic. The fear. She had to get out of there.

She felt Ryan's hand bump against her left hip. Because Delaney was still battling the air bag, she didn't immediately realize what he was doing. She quickly became aware that he was unlatching her seat belt.

“Come on,” he said.

It wasn't a shout, but a calmly spoken statement as if this weren't the life-and-death situation it had quickly become.

Ryan didn't wait for her to comply. He caught on to her shoulder. Pulling. Tugging. Delaney did some maneuvering of her own. She rammed her forearm into the air bag, shoving it aside, and she slipped through the opening and into Ryan's waiting arms.

It wasn't an easy fit.

Even though his side of the car wasn't bashed in,
there was an air bag in the way, and he hauled her onto his seat, sandwiching her between the air bag, the steering wheel and his solid body.

He didn't waste any time. With the exception of headlights that were buried beneath the water, it was pitch-dark and she couldn't see much, but Delaney heard the soft grind of his window. It seemed to take an eternity to lower.

With each passing second, her heart beat faster. She prayed, while the water got deeper. Rushing into the car and rising until it swirled around her chest.

Then the soft grinding sound stopped.

The window stopped.

The headlights vanished.

Ryan cursed. Still not with much emotion. The stalled window and lack of light didn't deter him. He slammed his shoulder against his door.

It didn't budge.

Another slam. So hard that it shook the entire car and sent a wave of water careening right into her face. Delaney gasped. Nearly panicked. But then she thought of her son. Of Patrick. If she panicked, she'd die.

Because of him, she had to stay alive.

Somehow.

Delaney pulled in a long breath, holding it in her lungs. It wasn't a moment too soon. The muddy water surged and rose. Racing in all around them, swirling and coiling, smothering, until it covered her throat. Her chin. And finally, her entire face.

God, she couldn't breathe.

Even though there wasn't nearly enough space for her to escape, she scrambled toward the narrow opening of the window, but Ryan held on to her. That didn't do much to steady her heart or ease the overwhelming feeling of terror building inside her.

She lost the battle she'd been fighting with the panic. She had to have air. She had to breathe. She had to get out of there now.

Still, Ryan held on to her.

Why?

She forced herself to think, to calm down so she could conserve what little oxygen she had left in her lungs. It worked. After only a few seconds, it occurred to her what he might be doing. He was probably waiting for the car to be totally immersed so the pressure would be equal on both the inside and outside. Only then could they open the door and get out.

It was their one chance at surviving.

Ryan made another sway of movement. Not a battering motion as before. Delaney did some moving of her own, trying to find the door handle so she could try to open it.

He beat her to it.

Her fingers closed over his. His skin was so cold. Like death. But she pushed the eerie thought aside, and their joined hands pulled back the handle.

The door opened.

Relief rushed through her, but Delaney knew this didn't mean they were out of danger. They still had to make their way out of the ditch.

Ryan hooked his arm around her waist and got them out of the car and into the shadowy water. She pushed her feet against the side of the vehicle and used it as leverage to propel them forward. So did Ryan.

Together, they surfaced.

Delaney gasped, pulling in the much-needed fresh air, and she reached for anything she could use to haul herself out of the ditch. She managed to latch on to a handful of mud and grass. Unfortunately, the soft squishy mixture wasn't good grasping material. It slipped right through her fingers, and she would probably have sunk right back into the water if it hadn't been for Ryan.

He stabbed his elbow into the muddy embankment, using it to anchor them, and in the same motion, he thrust them both forward. Away from the water and the car. And onto the gravel shoulder.

To safety.

Her lungs felt starved for air, and Delaney sucked in several feverish breaths. Beside her, she heard Ryan do the same. But other than that, he didn't take any more time to recover from the ordeal.

Scrambling to get to his knees, Ryan tried to position himself in front of her. But he couldn't. It took Delaney a moment to realize why. Their hands were locked
together. Specifically, their fingers. She felt around and located the problem. The butterfly charm on her ring had somehow slipped beneath Ryan's wedding band.

He pulled his hand away, still trying to reposition himself. Delaney did the same. A few tugs, and she felt something snap. The butterfly charm broke off, and Ryan and she were free.

Ryan immediately placed himself between her and the country road. Even through the rain and darkness, Delaney could see that he was searching for something. His eyes whipped first to one end of the road and then to the other.

Delaney did the same, but she saw nothing other than the night and the rain. Even the momentary illumination from a flash of lightning didn't reveal anything. Definitely no sign of the other car that had careered toward them.

The car that had caused the accident.

Ryan cursed again, and this time, there was raw, uncut emotion.

Delaney wasn't immune to emotion either as a sickening feeling coursed through her.

Perhaps this had not been an accident at all.

 

“I'
LL BE RIGHT BACK
with your statements,” Sheriff Dillon Knight informed Ryan. The lanky, denim-clad sheriff stood and headed for the exit of the interview room. “You and Ms. Nash can leave as soon as you've signed everything.”

Ryan glanced at Delaney, who was across the room on the phone talking to her babysitter. She nodded, an acknowledgment that she'd heard the sheriff.

Acknowledgement and relief.

Relief was certainly a reasonable reaction considering they'd been at the Grandville hospital and then the sheriff's office for two-and-a-half hours. During that time, they'd been questioned, examined by one of the local doctors, bandaged, and then questioned again. What they hadn't had was a moment of privacy or peace. Delaney probably wanted nothing more than to get out of there and go home to her son. Ryan overheard snippets of her conversation with her babysitter to confirm that.

Are you sure Patrick's all right?

Please tell him I'll be there soon.

Tell him I love him.

Kiss him good-night for me.

Definitely the words of a mother worried about her child, even if her child was probably too young to know what those reassurances meant.

They'd been lucky. Damn lucky. They'd gotten away with a bruise on Delaney's right arm, a scrape on his neck and some assorted nicks. They would no doubt be stiff and sore for a few days, but all in all, the injuries were minor.

Lucky indeed.

Ryan took a long sip of the sludge-black coffee that the sheriff's deputy had provided. The too-strong brew
was bitter, obviously hours past its prime, if it'd ever had a prime. And yet Ryan welcomed the heat. Plus, it gave his hands something to latch on to so that he wouldn't fidget. It was either that or stuffing his hands in his pockets. The coffee won out in the end. Too bad it couldn't stop his mind from fidgeting, but that was asking a lot of mere hot coffee.

Even though he was in dry clothes—loaner jeans and a T-shirt courtesy of the hospital—the icy coldness of the water had seemed to seep all the way into his bones. It was a cold he'd never forget.

And he wasn't about to forget the
accident
anytime soon, either.

As he'd already done a dozen times, Ryan went through the events that led up to them being plunged into the irrigation ditch. To paraphrase an old saying, the devil was in the details, and his gut feeling was that something sinister had happened tonight.

The road leading to the estate was private. Hardly used by anyone but his staff and him. Yet, the other car had been there. At the sharpest curve of the road near the deepest, widest part of the irrigation system. With no headlights on. And on the wrong side of the road. It'd come right at them.

Then disappeared.

Ryan didn't think it was a phantom or a ghost car. Nor was it some illusion caused by the storm.

No.

The vehicle had been real. And now the question was to find out who'd been behind the wheel, why they had been on the road, and why the driver had done what he or she had done.

Ryan would get answers to those questions, and he wouldn't rely only on the sheriff to help him. He'd call Quentin Kincade, his security guru, and get some investigators on this immediately.

“We won't have to be here much longer,” he heard Delaney say. Ryan wasn't sure if she was trying to convince herself or him. She hung up the phone, scrubbed her hands over her arms and started to pace.

Yep. She was a pacer.

Ryan had learned that about her over the past two-and-a-half hours. A pacer, a lip nibbler and a mumbler. He'd also discovered that she wasn't a coffee drinker, had instead opted for bottled water. Perhaps because she was nursing and didn't want the caffeine, or maybe because she was already too jittery.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Sure.” She'd answered too quickly for it to be anything but rote. It did stop her, however. She quit pacing, briefly met his eyes and shook her head. The motion sent a lock of her now-dry dark brown hair slipping down onto her forehead. She raked it away. “I just need to get out of here.”

Ryan understood completely. The fatigue was quickly becoming a factor, and he wasn't sure he could
think straight much longer. As a rule, he never liked to be in a situation where he didn't have a clear head. “If the sheriff's not back in a few minutes, I'll see what I can do to speed things up.”

Another nod. “Thank you.” She paused a heartbeat. “For everything.”

“You're welcome.”

Because it'd been a while, too long, since he'd said something that genuinely cordial to anyone, Ryan decided it was a good time to shut up and drink his godawful coffee. This forced proximity, and the remnants of the danger had created some kind of weird intimacy between Delaney and him.

Intimacy that neither of them wanted.

She folded her arms over her chest and resumed her pacing in her borrowed jeans and the faded blue T-shirt that swallowed her. It was at least three sizes too big, and yet it somehow managed to skim and accent every curve of her body. And she had some curves.

Something he was sorry he'd noticed.

Worse, he hadn't noticed it just once. His attention kept going back to her—her body, her face, those eyes—and Ryan just kept forcing his attention on something else. Anything else.

Their respective coping behaviors, the pacing, the coffee drinking, the diverted attention worked for several moments. Until the silence settled a little too uncomfortably around them.

“Nothing like this has ever happened to me before,” Delaney said. “Not even a fender bender. For a couple of moments there, I thought we were going to die.”

He'd thought the same thing, but Ryan kept it to himself.

“Do you think this is connected to what Dr. Keyes told me?” she asked.

It was the billon-dollar question, and it was a possible connection they hadn't withheld from the sheriff.

Well, in a way, they hadn't.

Delaney had been careful not to accuse the doctor outright of a crime, but she had told Sheriff Knight about the unsettling call from the medical watchdog group. What she'd left out, however, was any mention of cloning. It was as if she were trying to strike that particular detail from her mind. Ryan was willing to bet she hadn't been any more successful at it than he'd been.

However, the cloning allegation wasn't the only factor to be considered here.

“I've made enemies,” Ryan admitted, staring down into his coffee. And that was a massive understatement. “This could have happened because of me.”

Not an easy admission to make to her, and Ryan hoped—no, he prayed—that this deed wasn't on his head. He already had enough unresolved issues in his life without adding this latest episode involving Delaney Nash.

She came to a halt directly in front of the gray metal
table where he was sitting and waited until their eyes met. “You didn't mention anyone specific to the sheriff.”