Comes the Night (Entangled Suspense) Page 4

  She’d call the Atlanta police if she discovered anything of interest…and if the telegram was another wild goose chase, well, she’d be back home in time to pick up Sam in the morning. Closing her eyes, she tilted her seat and thought about the day Zach had come back into her life, surprising her by showing up at her favorite café—the one she’d told him had the most amazing chocolate muffins in all of New York. When he’d discovered she was pregnant and about to be a single mom, he’d taken it in stride. As he built his security firm, they’d become friends. Then, one night as he insisted that she eat more vegetables and shared yet another important tidbit of information he’d read in a baby book, she began to hope her growing feelings for him might be returned twofold, that one day he might love both her and her baby.

  And he had—he did—love both her and Sam. And now Daniel. He’d never let them down, and she would never give up on him.

  Chapter Eight

  The attendant woke Lizzie. They were fifteen minutes from the Atlanta airport.

  She’d fallen asleep wrapped in memories of the first time Zach told her that he loved her. As her fears rushed back full force, she tried to recapture the temporary peace her memories had brought her even as she analyzed every remembered word for information.

  She tapped the arm of her chair impatiently. Normally when she remembered that day, her focus was on the kiss, the love, the passion. Seven months pregnant and he’d made her feel sexy as hell.

  There was something about their conversation that she’d forgotten.

  “I was launching a new business.”

  Zach had always been very open in talking with her about Weston Security, a firm that analyzed organizations’ security needs, identifying where they might be vulnerable to attack and then building solutions to keep company secrets and personnel safe.

  He’d learned a lot about security—and the tricks of defeating security measures—during a classified stint serving his country. She didn’t know what branch of the military or which clandestine organization. The only thing he’d ever told her about his experience was that his last mission had ended badly, that when he met her on a windy day in Mexico he’d been lost, damaged really, and her indomitable spirit had pulled him from the edge of darkness.

  When she’d questioned him, he’d asked her to let it go. Out of respect for his pain, she had. Now she wished she could go back and pry into his past, expose his secrets, no matter how painful. Because she’d told the police everything she knew, and it hadn’t been enough.

  But still, she was certain there was something she was missing. Missing! That was it. He’d had a business partner. He’d told her they planned to open their new company somewhere on the East Coast, so southern New York State was as good as any location. They. In the month since he’d dropped unexpectedly into her life, he’d never mentioned a business partner. No friends, no family…nothing. So she’d been intrigued by the possibility of a “they” in his past.

  It was immediately apparent he regretted the slip. He’d shut down. As completely closed off as he’d been the first day they met. After a tense moment, he’d smiled, and darn if she hadn’t been distracted by his dimple.

  “After all,” he’d said, “opening a company near the bakery with the best chocolate muffins in all of New York can’t be wrong.”

  She sighed in frustration. Over the past three years she’d had plenty of love. What she lacked was information. She picked up the phone and left a message for Kyle, sharing this small, incomplete memory so he could factor it into the search.

  When the plane landed, they grabbed a cab and made their way to the private clinic, Sisters of Mercy. Staring out the window, she clasped Daniel’s bear tightly in her trembling hands.

  …

  Thomas stood in the middle of a fancy brick drive. They’d flown across the Atlantic to reach this South American island, and then taken a limo along a well-paved path through the wilderness before arriving at their final destination. He rolled his shoulders to release growing tension as he surveyed his surroundings.

  So this was the home of Alistair Thomas Forrester I, II, and III. Just thinking about the perpetuation of the name and all the pomposity inherent in the way the old man invoked it gave Thomas a monstrous headache. Hell, it was likely time again for his damn pills.

  The house—he thought perhaps he was wrong to call it a home—was large.

  Large and out of place. Where a plantation manor might seem more suitable, a one-story mansion best described as Victorian rose in the midst of lush surroundings, a formal abomination amid the untamed tropical foliage.

  Large and ostentatious and cold. Perfectly suited to Alistair Sr. But for him and little Alistair? Surely this was not the kind of place they chose to call home.

  And little Alistair? What had he been thinking to saddle his son with a name like that?

  He frowned as he considered his surroundings. Other than knowing they’d traveled south across the Atlantic, the plant life was his only clue to their location. They’d flown on a private plane and he’d slept most of the flight after taking medication for his headache. According to Alistair, the pain and fatigue were unfortunate side effects of the accident that caused his memory loss.

  He knew nothing about the qualifications of the nanny who walked ahead with his son. Truthfully, though it wasn’t nice to say it, she waddled. Perhaps he should find her rotund, grandmotherly shape reassuring, but something about the harsh lines that bracketed her mouth and the heavy eyeliner that lent a cruel set to her eyes called to mind an evil orphanage headmistress rather than a caring nanny.

  As his father threw an arm around his shoulder and clapped him on the back, Thomas suppressed a desire to step away. The man treated him like a possession. Something to be paraded around for the world to see.

  It was the same way he treated Alistair III.

  Hours later Thomas rolled his shoulders and stretched muscles that protested having spent the day holed up in the study with Alistair, relearning the intricacies of Worldwide Pharmaceuticals. With the old man’s high opinion of himself, he was surprised his father hadn’t named the company Forrester Pharmaceuticals. Or Forrester’s Fabulous Pharmaceuticals. Better yet, The Fantastic Forrester’s Fabulous Pharmaceuticals. He grinned when Alistair went to the wet bar to freshen his drink. Nice to know that while he and the old man shared the same color eyes, Thomas definitely had the better sense of humor—and the good sense when not to let Alistair in on his joke.

  As Alistair returned to the conference table, Thomas focused on the reports in front of him. The company specialized in the production of vitamins and supplements, a seemingly innocuous corporate mission. However, the company, like his life, seemed fraught with the unknown.

  In reviewing the financials, he’d found a line for research that went unexplained. Apparently they were involved in the creation of a new drug. Alistair had brushed him off the first time he asked, but later said they were involved in work for the government—work for which the government had withdrawn Thomas’s security clearance given the nature of his mental injuries.

  Something about his father’s explanation rang false.

  Rather than probe further into the vague responses, he resolved to seek the information he needed on his own. But for now he wanted to see his son.

  Claiming he needed a break, he walked swiftly down the hall to spend a moment with Alistair III. The name still bothered him. Too many syllables. Too much baggage. Because he couldn’t just wipe the slate clean and make up a new name for the poor little guy, he’d thought through a lot of nicknames, finally settling on Ace. “Ace” had a certain independent quality to it. Ace was a guy who could hold his own in a fight, someone who wasn’t afraid to take a risk, someone who wasn’t burdened with the oppressive expectations of others.

  As he approached the children’s wing, he heard country music, and under the crooning and guitars, the sound of crying.

  He opened the nursery door and stepped inside, dismayed to
find his son sobbing in his swing while the nanny read a magazine on the far side of the large room. The crib sat near the window, along with a changing table and camel-colored rocking chair. Although the swing was within arm’s reach of the rocking chair, the nanny sat in the leather recliner in the section of the room he thought of as the sitting area. Like the rest of the house, it lacked the cheerful, nurturing atmosphere that a child needed. In fact, the room suited Alistair Sr. much more than it suited Ace.

  Adjusting her bulk in the overstuffed chair, the nanny sighed heavily. “Oh, good grief. Shut up already.” She reached for her soda and took a drink. Frowning at the child, she said harshly, “Your grandpa said you need to toughen up, and you’re going to toughen up whether you like it or not.” She turned up her music and continued reading.

  Although Thomas made no noise, the nanny glanced up, as though she felt the weight of his stare.

  He turned off the radio. “Get out.”

  The color drained from her face at the deadly chill in voice. “Now li-listen here,” she stuttered, “I’m just doin’ what Mr. Forrester instructed me to do—”

  “You’re fired. Get out now before I personally throw you out.” He picked up his distraught son, soothing him with soft words and calming strokes, gently rocking him back and forth until his crying ceased.

  …

  When his mobile phone vibrated, Alistair paused impatiently outside the nursery door. Very few people had this number. “What?” he barked when he saw who was calling. He paid people not to bother him.

  “We have trouble. The woman is at the clinic, asking questions. She’s flashing a picture of Thomas and the boy around, demanding answers. What do you want me to do?”

  He was annoyed, shocked even, that the woman had found the clinic, but not surprised that once she’d found it, she persisted in seeking answers. Under other circumstances he’d have admired her determination. “Well, this is most unfortunate. Most unfortunate indeed.” He stroked his beard and considered his options.

  “This could work to our advantage.” He glanced at his watch. “Let’s invite dear Elizabeth to join us, and tell our associate to move quickly to secure the girl. Timing is everything. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Forrester. Don’t worry about a thing. There won’t be a problem.”

  Dropping the phone back into his pocket, he frowned and wondered how Elizabeth, Lizzie, had learned about the very private clinic. Well, he’d discover that answer in good time. Thankfully, he’d planned for such a contingency and left a man in Westchester. With his men prepared to handle Elizabeth, he focused on Thomas, who was in danger of failing to meet his expectations.

  As any of Alistair Forrester’s employees could attest, failing to meet expectations was a perilous course of action. He entered the nursery to confront his son.

  Thomas jerked his head toward the door when it flew open, but he continued to rock young Alistair in his arms. Alistair swept into the room.

  “You fired the nanny, Thomas.” Alistair crossed his arms. “Do you think that was wise?”

  Thomas glared at him. “She was abusing my son through her neglect.”

  “And who will look after the boy until we find a replacement? These things take time, Thomas.” With a sigh, he shook his head. “We’ll pull one of the maids from her duties to look after him until the nanny can be replaced.”

  “I’ll take care of my son, Father. And I’ll approve any new caregivers.” Thomas’s tone invited no disagreement.

  Alistair stared at him through narrowed eyes, their first standoff since arriving at the island. Finally he nodded and left the room. Let the boy think he’d won this battle. Alistair would win the war.

  …

  Lizzie sat on a bench outside the clinic and pondered her next move. The pilot remained inside, continuing to ask questions, but she’d needed a moment alone. Everyone claimed not to have seen Zach or Daniel, but she wasn’t sure she believed them. Something felt…off. She rose, prepared to go back in and demand answers.

  “Mrs. Weston?” A tall, thin man with crew-cut black hair approached her. “My name is Jim Jameson. I heard you were looking for a guy, early thirties, brown hair, green eyes.”

  Zach! With shaking hands, she reached in her purse and removed a picture of Zach, Sam, and her, taken a month before Daniel’s birth. She held out the picture. “Is this the man?”

  He studied the picture. “Yes, ma’am. I believe it is. Had a baby with him.”

  Pulling out the second picture, she showed him her most recent picture of Daniel, taken the day before they disappeared. “Is this the baby?” She couldn’t hide the tears in her voice.

  “Yes, ma’am. I believe it is. If you’ll just come with me, I’ll take you to them.” The man grabbed her arm and steered her toward a waiting car.

  Warning bells rang in her head. She stopped walking and attempted to pull from his grasp. When his grip tightened, she snarled, “Let go of me right now or I’ll scream.” She fumbled her purse, dropping the pictures inside as she reached for her pepper spray. The man tugged hard on her elbow. She felt the lining tear, and the spray slid through her fingers.

  “Now ma’am, you don’t want to do that.” He jerked her arm again. “’Cause I have something that belongs to you, something you want me to take real good care of.”

  She stared at him with wide eyes as fear caused her heart to race. “What…” She couldn’t finish the thought and swallowed hard to clear her throat.

  He laughed unpleasantly. “Why ma’am, we have your child.”

  “Daniel? You have Daniel. Where is he?” she demanded.

  “No ma’am, not that child. The other one.”

  “Sam?” Certain he could hear the pounding of her heart, she lifted her free arm to check her watch. She dismissed his claim with a wave of her hand. “She’s with her father.”

  Jameson smirked, pulled out his phone, and hit speed dial. His grip loosened. “Don’t go anywhere, pretty mommy.”

  New fissures of fear ran down her spine.

  He handed her the phone. Sam appeared on the screen, held in a stranger’s arms, her little legs kicking. A shoe slipped off and dropped to the ground. One of her favorite shoes—a pink sneaker with gold and purple rhinestones. Lizzie watched in horror as Sam screamed, lunging for the treasured shoe. The man jerked her tightly against his body and hissed in her ear. She couldn’t hear what he said, but Sam’s cries of outrage lessened until she hung quietly in his arms, her eyes wide and teary, her face red. Despite her fear, the stubborn set of her jaw was all her mom’s. Lizzie shuddered—she knew that stubbornness could both sustain and destroy.

  The man spoke in Sam’s ear again. Sam raised her hand to wave at the camera, her chin jutting forward. He shifted her into a one-armed embrace and held her tight across the waist. While she continued to wave halfheartedly, he reached in his pocket and removed a gun. He held the weapon out of Sam’s line of sight and pointed it at her tousled head. Lizzie saw his lips mouth the word “bang.” Then he waggled the gun at the camera, smiling. The call ended.

  Jameson plucked the phone from Lizzie’s lifeless fingers and steered her into the waiting car.

  What had she done?

  Chapter Nine

  Thomas hurried to see Ace, as he now referred to his son despite his father’s displeasure. If he were honest, Alistair’s disapproval made the nickname even more appealing. The relationship between them was not going well, although today had been a good day. Alistair had disappeared for hours, and Thomas welcomed the reprieve.

  Ace. Yep, the name appealed to him in some indefinable way, and he was pretty sure his boy would prefer it to young Alistair. He still wasn’t quite comfortable with the youthful maid who’d been watching Ace while they looked for a new nanny. Adding to his concerns, his son was struggling to keep down formula. The nurse who worked on-site was concerned because the infant had lost a couple of ounces of weight. Feeding him took patience and persistence to ensure he receiv
ed enough nutrition.

  He opened the door without knocking, startling the dark-haired woman who was rocking his son—his very content, very peaceful son. He barely noticed when she looked at him, so intently was he focused on his boy.

  “Who are you?” he snapped. His annoyance that Alistair had again ignored his wishes overflowed. He’d obviously intimidated the young woman because it took her a moment to answer, her attention on Ace as she spoke.

  “Your father hired me as the baby’s new nanny.”

  He frowned at the tone of careful control in her quiet voice and observed her closely. Her hair was pulled back from her face and contained in an unbecoming bun. It was reddish, but not the vibrant red, rich auburn, or even strawberry blond that he associated with redheads. No, her hair was indeed red, but a dark, lifeless shade he could only describe as drab.

  Her gentle care of his son belied the unpleasant edge in her voice, as though she dared him to defy his father’s decision.

  Unfortunately for the nanny, he’d had about all of the secrets and manipulations he intended to take. “Look, lady, my father—”

  “Thomas.” The man in question entered.

  Thomas’s eyes narrowed at the not-so-coincidental timing of his father’s entrance.

  “I see you’ve met the new nanny.” His booming voice seemed to suck the very air from the room. “Maggie, this is my son, Alistair Thomas Forrester Jr. You may call him Mr. Forrester.” He smirked. “Thomas, I know you wanted final say in selecting the new nanny, but this young woman was an excellent find, and I just had to snatch her up. See how content the boy is? This is the first day we’ve not had to listen to his infernal crying when you’re not around.”

  Slapping Thomas jovially on the shoulder, he further explained, “And the best part? She’s a wet nurse. The boy’s been eating like a pig since she arrived.”

  Thomas frowned at the crassness of his father’s comments. While he would be extremely grateful if indeed Ace were eating better, his concern that he knew nothing about the new nanny grew. With his thoughts on the suitability of the woman before him, he barely registered his father’s next words.