The Homecoming (12 page)

“How could they enroll him in school without his birth certificate?” Terrence asked. “Did they forge one?”

The investigator shook his head. “No. They had a birth certificate. What no one ever realized was that they also had a death certificate. The Bakers had a son the same year your son Robbie was born. He was named Everett, but he died of Sudden Infant Death
Syndrome a few months after birth.” The man cleared his throat. “At least, that's what your son was told. He says that over the years he came to suspect that Mrs. Baker may have accidentally killed the child. Apparently she wasn't the most stable person in the world.”

Leslie shuddered and put a hand to her throat. Terrence's face was frozen into a carefully blank expression, but he reached over and put an arm around his wife's shoulders.

The P.I. looked back down at the notes he'd extracted from the folder. “When Everett—your son—was sixteen, Lester Baker abandoned the family. Everett intended to run away as well, but his mother—”

“She was
not
his mother,” Leslie said in a steely voice at odds with her usual gentle demeanor.

“Right.” The P.I. continued, correcting himself. “Mrs. Baker attempted suicide. She was hospitalized and apparently Everett never felt he could leave her again. He finished high school and got a job, then put himself through a community college by taking classes at night for the next six years. When he got his degree, he got a job in Missouri and both he and Mrs. Baker moved to St. Louis. She died there in 2001. She had liver cancer. Before she died, Everett found the death certificate I mentioned earlier among her things. Of course, that led him to suspect he wasn't her son. When he confronted her, she told him the whole story.”

“Four years ago? But why didn't he look for us then?” Leslie asked.

“He did, after a fashion,” the P.I. replied. “After
Mrs. Baker's death, he moved to Portland, where he got a job in the accounting department of Children's Connection, which he had learned you were deeply involved with.”

“So close…” Terrence murmured. “Four years wasted.”

“Mr. Logan, Mrs. Logan, I don't believe Everett felt he could approach you at that point. He'd done research on you and your family. He knew you'd buried a child you believed was him, and that you'd had other children. He has an enormous amount of guilt—”

“Guilt? Whatever for?” Leslie asked.

“He believes he let you down. He thinks he should have tried harder to get away the day he was taken, and that he should have been smart enough to avoid being snatched at all. He can't forgive himself for forgetting his past.”

“He was
six,
” Terrence said forcefully. “Just a little boy. We never blamed him in any way.”

“I know that,” the man said. “But you must understand. Your son was raised by two people who were verbally abusive, at the very least. From things I read in some of the school reports, I suspect it went further than that, though he's never confirmed it. Initially, I believe he was brainwashed. They told him you didn't want him back. For some time he felt that you'd quit on him. Now that this all has come out, he feels as if he quit on you.”

“That couldn't be more wrong,” Leslie said softly. “I want to tell him that myself.”

“So how did he get mixed up in this trouble?” Terrence asked.

The private investigator glanced at his notes again. “In Portland, Everett was approached by a man named Charlie Prescott—”

“The one who was killed recently.”

“Yes. Prescott already had kidnapping plans in mind, as well as other things, and I believe he recruited Everett because he seemed like an easy mark. Your son was moved around too much to make friends during his formative years. He was—still is—almost painfully withdrawn with most people. He was lonely. Prescott offered him something that must have been irresistible—friendship.”

“And from there he talked him into helping with his plans.” Terrence rubbed his forehead. “Poor Robbie.”

The P.I. nodded. He tapped the folder, then slid it across the table. “In here are all the details of his education from his school records. I also spoke with some of Lester Baker's employers in various locations, as well as employees at the St. Louis hospital at which Mrs. Baker died, and Everett's co-workers in St. Louis and here in Portland. He's formed a relationship with a young woman, a nurse. I also spoke to her. She seems pleasant, honest and very self-confident. I sense that they're quite close.”

“Nancy Allen.” Terrence smiled slightly. “She called and thanked me after I posted his bail bond. I want to meet her one of these days.”

“Yes.” The investigator stood. “I'll leave the
information with you. Just call if there's anything else I can do for you.”

“Thank you so much. We're glad to have anything that can help us understand Robbie better.” Terrence stood as well and offered a hand. “Why don't you come over to my office and we'll settle your bill right now?”

As Terrence ushered the man from the room, Leslie picked up the folder and began to read.

I
f Danny ever had been so nervous about anything in his life, he couldn't remember it. He knew nothing about five-year-old boys except that he'd been one once. And that year of his life had been the last happy one before a disastrously difficult childhood that in very few ways could be called normal.

Danny took a deep breath as he stood in front of Sydney's door, listening to small footsteps come pounding toward the door. He couldn't afford to screw up this chance to begin to bond with his son.

“Hi, Mr. Crosby! Did you bring stuff to play with?” His son stood in the open doorway, with a grin wide enough to split his little face.

“Uh, no,” he said. Hell. He was already striking out.

“That's okay,” Nick consoled him. “You can play with mine.”

“Thanks.” Amused and vastly relieved that he hadn't failed some test, Danny gestured toward the interior of the house. “May I come in?”

“Oh! Yeah.” Nick turned and started to march toward the living room, leaving Danny to enter and shut the door. “Mommy gets mad usually when I answer the door without her. But today she said I could.”

“I guess it's not a good idea to talk to strangers when Mommy's not around.”

“Uh-uh.” The little blond head shook back and forth emphatically. “‘cuz they might steal me.”

Danny had to shut his eyes for a moment against a sudden surge of emotion. His son had been too little to learn that lesson four years ago. How ironic that Sydney had done such a good job of teaching it.

But then he thought of Robbie, walking away with the strange man, despite having been taught not to talk to strangers. It was far too easy to tempt a child of this age, Danny knew. A parent would never be able to relax his vigilance. Once again, he gave a silent “thank you” to whatever fate had led Nick into Sydney's arms. Robbie's life had been changed in much the same way, but the experience apparently had been much different.

When he opened his eyes, Sydney was standing at the kitchen doorway. Her blue eyes were sober and sympathetic. “Is this going to be all right?” she asked
him. Not because she doubted his ability to care for his son, he realized, but because she was concerned that it would be too hard on
him.

The knot around his heart loosened. He nodded. “Yeah. It will.” As his nerves died away and her appearance began to register, he realized how lovely she looked in a midnight-blue business suit that hugged her slender figure. The skirt stopped just above her knees, revealing the legs he found so attractive in flirty, slender heels. The delicate white sweater beneath the jacket was just sheer enough to show a hint of lace beneath. “You look great,” he said. “Pretty.”

She smiled. “Thank you. ‘Pretty' wasn't exactly what I was going for but I'll take it.”

“What were you going for?” He raised an eyebrow. “Believe me, Sydney, you're going to have to work a whole lot harder than that to escape looking pretty.”

She blushed. Blushed! Her whole
pretty
face went rosy.

“Hey, Mr. Crosby! Wanna play Nintendo with me?” Nick's piping voice interrupted a moment that was quickly growing too intense, too intimate, for the casual relationship they'd adopted since returning to Portland.

“He can play in a minute, honey,” Sydney said. “First let me show him a few things.” She turned and led the way into the kitchen, where she pointed at the front of the refrigerator. “There's a list here with essential information—my work number and mobile phone, my e-mail, Nick's personal information and
doctor's name and number. Right at this moment my mother and father are listed as his next of kin but obviously that's changed. We can take care of that paperwork this week.” Her voice was brisk and unemotional, though he knew how difficult this whole situation was for her. Yesterday he'd watched her struggle with tears more than once. “There are sandwiches, cut-up watermelon and a jar of carrots and celery in the frig for lunch. For snacks there are apples, bananas, crackers and peanut butter. Don't let him talk you into cookies.”

He smiled. He'd bet his island the subject of cookies would come up after she left. “Would it be okay if I took him to a park or something?”

She nodded. “There's a great neighborhood park two blocks over. Nick can get you there. Around eleven, there's an informal play group that shows up. It's a nice chance for him to hang with some other kids for a little bit.” She spread her hands. “He's really not a lot of work if you have the time to play with him. What else do you want to know?”

He thought for a moment, but she seemed to have pretty well covered everything. “I think I can wing it from here,” he said. Then something occurred to him. “Is it all right if he calls me Danny?”

She nodded slowly. “But…don't you want him to call you Daddy? Should we see what the counselor tells us this afternoon?”

Danny shrugged. “Danny's not much of a stretch from Daddy when the time comes to talk to Nick. And
it feels weird to have him calling me Mr. Crosby. Mr. Crosby is my father.”

Sydney smiled. “All right.”

They made arrangements to meet at the counselor's office late that afternoon. He'd take Nick to his regular baby-sitter first so they could speak freely.

But as he and Nick walked outside to wave goodbye when Sydney climbed into her car, a dark-haired man came out of the apartment next door. He wore a T-shirt and cut-off athletic shorts and Danny could see muscles the size of footballs in his arms as he went down the steps toward her car. “Hey, Syd! Glad you're back.”

Danny couldn't hear her reply but he saw her roll down her window and lean an elbow out of the car as she smiled up at the guy.

“Who's that?” he asked Nick shamelessly.

“Erran. He's our neighbor.”

“The one who helped you build your go-cart?”

Nick nodded. “Yeah. Erran's cool.”

Cool, huh? It didn't make Danny like the guy any better. In fact, if he touched Sydney's arm like that one more time, Danny might have to go over there and rip off a couple of fingers. And her name was not Syd.

Sydney's not yours,
he reminded himself.
You're not looking for a woman.
Just getting his son back was enough for him.

Wasn't it?

The day went well, in his estimation. Nick accepted him easily, chatting away about the minutiae of his young life.

“Where do you live?” he asked after Danny told him he'd have to see Danny's home one day.

“I live in Hawaii. I have to take a plane ride to get there. And then a boat ride because I live on an island.”

Nick's eyes were enormous. “That sounds far.”

Danny nodded. “I guess it is.”

“An island has water all around it.”

“Right. And it's warm all the time on my island. I can go swimming any time I want.”

“Do you take your kids swimming?”

The innocent question sliced deeply. When he responded, he chose his words carefully. “I don't have any children who live with me. Just two people who take care of my house, Leilani and Johnny.”

“Leilani and Johnny.” Nick rolled the words around on his tongue a couple of times, giggling. “Hey, that rhymes! That means they sound alike.”

“You are too smart for me, buddy.” He realized a second later that he'd used Sydney's special nickname for her son. But Nick didn't seem to mind. “Maybe,” he added casually, “you can meet them someday if you visit my house.”

“Cool!” Apparently everything in his young life was cool. He smiled as Nick muttered, “Leilani and Johnny,” again, still grinning.

 

The counseling appointment that afternoon started out well enough. The psychologist was a woman, and she listened carefully to each of them as they told the story of Nick's life. She was circumspect, but Danny
could see she was pleased that he wasn't insisting they tell Nick who he really was that very afternoon, or anything quite so rash.

Then Danny asked how long she thought they should wait before moving him.

“It would be best to let him absorb the change in his family structure before you change his living environment. Perhaps you could talk to him about his father before there's any mention of moving.” She steepled her fingers and looked over them at Danny. “I presume he'll eventually live with you again, Mr. Crosby?”

“Yes.” That was one thing he was sure of.

“And how far away from his current home will you be living?”

“I'm planning on taking him back to Hawaii,” said Danny.

“But what about school?” Sydney interrupted. “You'll have to take him over to Kauai every day!”

“I'd thought about getting a tutor. Someone to live in.”

Her eyebrows rose and he could see she didn't like it. “But what about playmates? You can't expect him to be as solitary as you are, Danny. He's used to going to preschool with other kids. He plays soccer. How is he going to do that on the island?” Her voice rose slightly.

Before he could respond, the counselor said, “I can see that this is an issue that needs to be decided before we explore your options further. Why don't you revisit
it in a day or two when each of you has had time to think about it, and next week we can talk about how best to prepare Nick for whatever impact the final decision will have on his life?”

“There's no need to revisit it,” Sydney said, and her whole demeanor was different. Shut down, contained. Her voice was very quiet now, very subdued. “Mr. Crosby is Nick's parent. He'll be making those decisions. My role is simply to prepare Nick as best I can for whatever is going to happen.”

The counselor looked at her impassively. “Is it really that cut and dried? You've raised this child, been his mother since he was tiny. The thought of losing him must be devastating.”

“Well, of course it is!” There was heat in Sydney's voice again. “But Danny didn't give up his son voluntarily. It's not like he signed off on his parental rights when I adopted Nick. I can't…won't stand in his way now that he's found him.” Her voice trembled. “Yes, the thought of waking up and going through each day without that precious little person is tearing me up inside, but what do you expect me to do? He was stolen from his parents. He's not mine to give back.” And she started to cry.

No, not cry. Sob. Hard. As if her heart would break. As if it
was
breaking.

Danny was stunned. Sydney had been so controlled, so calm about all this. Oh, he'd seen her cry, seen how difficult it was for her to talk about it, but until he'd seen this passionate outburst, he hadn't really let him
self acknowledge what was going to happen. No, that wasn't right. What
he
was going to do. To her.

The counselor let Sydney's words hang in the air for a long moment.

Danny reached over and put a hand on Sydney's back, feeling helpless and guilty. Her body was warm and slender beneath his hand, quivering with the sobs that shook her, and for the first time in a long time, fury rose at the person who'd kidnapped Nick so long ago. He'd spent a lot of time that first year being furious. After Felicia's death, though, it had seemed like too much effort to be angry. It was easier just not to care.

Now there was a whole new component of this to deal with. It wasn't just him, not just Felicia, any longer. Now Sydney and her whole family were going to go through the devastation of losing a child, too.

Sydney fumbled in her purse and withdrew a small pack of tissues, and Danny let his hand slide away. He almost wanted to smile. She was so organized, so efficient. He could have predicted there would be tissues in there.

She wiped her eyes and blew her nose and sat back in her chair. “Sorry,” she said in Danny's direction, though she didn't meet his eyes.

He wished he had the right to put his arm around her again, to comfort her until she felt better. But he didn't. And the one thing that would make her feel better was something he couldn't give her.

His son.

He couldn't let himself get involved with Sydney,
he told himself fiercely. No matter how badly he wanted her, she deserved someone better. She didn't need someone like him, someone too…damaged to feel all the things she wanted him to feel. She needed a nice, normal guy who would give her a nice, normal marriage and a bunch of nice, normal kids of her own. Not a guy who could never love again.

Finally, the psychologist spoke again. “Have you two discussed setting up some sort of visitation arrangement? This situation is not unlike that of divorcing parents where the custodial parent is moving the child some distance away. And it certainly would be healthier for the child than having his mother suddenly disappear from his life. No matter how well you prepare him, that's going to impact him negatively.”

Visitation. He'd never even considered it. Danny could feel words of protest rising, but he squashed them before they could leak out. He'd been without his son for four years. He didn't want to live without him for even one day from now on. Did that make him selfish?

Maybe. He sighed and leaned forward, elbows on knees. “I guess I do have a lot to think about,” he said slowly. He turned and looked at Sydney, sitting quietly beside him, her face a frozen, unreadable mask. “And talk about.”

 

“Charlie used to boast,” Everett said to Detective Levine, the Portland cop who was interviewing him. He'd spoken to Levine when he'd first decided to turn
himself in and was marginally comfortable with the man's low-key manner. Not like the FBI agent who stood in the corner, watching him with a jaundiced eye. If Agent Delane had had his way, Everett suspected he'd have been thrown into a dungeon and Delane would have melted down the key.

But today Delane didn't intimidate him quite as much. He felt…almost courageous. And it was all due to Nancy. She sat at his side, her slender fingers laced firmly through his, and he had the sense that she was ready to pounce on Delane at the slightest provocation. She'd clearly decided Levine was the friendlier of the two and she'd pointedly ignored Delane ever since.