Wild Stallion. Delores Fossen
though. When he’d first seen her eyes, he’d thought they were memorable. And they were. Because they were a close match to Caden’s.
“Blue,” she repeated, smiling. The smile quickly faded though. “You said he was safe? Are you sure?”
“Positive.” To prove it to himself, he used his phone to scan through the security cameras, and he zoomed in on the panic room. Caden was there, still asleep. His nanny, Tracy Collier, was holding him.
“May I see him?” Bailey’s voice had so much breath in it that it hardly had any sound. Also, there was that hopefulness in it again.
But Jackson didn’t show her the images on his screen, and he wouldn’t. Not until he’d done some investigating, and even then it might not happen.
He used the phone to call Evan again, and, as expected, his business manager answered on the first ring.
“Is everyone okay?” Evan immediately asked.
Jackson settled for saying, “They caught the intruder.”
“Yes. I was watching the security feed, but I’m on my way out to the estate now. I figured you might need some help.”
“I do, as a matter of fact.” His gaze met Bailey’s, and he didn’t think it was his imagination that she was holding her breath. “I need you to get the contact info for Caden’s birth mother.”
Evan didn’t answer for several moments. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
A lot of money had gone into that private adoption. Well over a million dollars. The attorney had said it was to expedite the process and to pay the birth mother’s expenses, both medical and the cost of her return to college. Jackson hoped that was all the money had been used for, and that it wasn’t part of some illegal process.
“Anything else?” Evan asked.
Jackson looked at Bailey again. “Yes. Get me a detailed report of the hostage incident at the maternity hospital. I want everything the cops have, including info on employees they might have suspected in the disappearance of Bailey Hodges’s newborn.”
Evan made a sound of disapproval. “That sounds like a messy can of worms you’re opening, Jackson.”
Yes, it was, but this particular can was already open, and the proof was standing in front of him.
“I have the women’s names,” Bailey volunteered the moment he ended the call with Evan. “And I’ve ruled out everyone else who was on the maternity ward that afternoon. Well, hopefully. There’s always the possibility that the woman who took my son wasn’t on any official records. She could have come in with the gunmen.”
And if that were true, then there’d be no way to trace her. That would mean no definitive answer for Bailey. That, in turn, meant she wouldn’t make a hasty exit out of his life. The fastest way to end this was to figure out what had happened to her son.
“Give me the photos,” he instructed.
She pulled the folded sheet of paper from her jeans and handed it to him. But not without touching him. Her fingers brushed his. She was still trembling.
Hell.
He didn’t want her fear and emotions—or his reaction to them—to have any part in this. He wanted a cool detachment between Bailey and himself while he helped her, and himself. But that zing of heat didn’t equal anything cool. Jackson was betting the detachment wouldn’t go far, either. And that meant he had to do something about it.
Bailey jerked back her hand as if he’d scalded her, and she dodged his gaze when she spoke. “The first woman is Shannon Wright, an RN who was on the fourth floor of the hospital that day, but no one remembers seeing her after the gunmen arrived. She claims she hid.”
It was possible Shannon Wright was telling the truth—hiding would be the logical thing to do—but Bailey was right to suspect her.
“The second one is Robin Russo. She works in records in the administration section. The other floors of the hospital were evacuated after the gunmen arrived in the maternity ward, and someone saw Robin leave her office, but no one, including the police, actually saw her leave the building.”
Jackson gave that some thought. “You have a motive for either of these women?”
She shook her head. “Well, unless they got money from selling my baby to someone.”
And that was something Jackson couldn’t rule out—yet—but he would.
“What about your son’s father?” Jackson asked. “Maybe he’s the one who had your son taken?”
Another headshake. “My baby’s father broke off things with me when I told him I was pregnant. He took a job in Europe, and I haven’t heard from him, other than an email to remind me that he wanted nothing to do with the child.”
Jackson tried not to have any visible reaction to that, but her story only made him feel more sympathy for her. And empathy, because of his own bad relationship. He had to keep his distance from her, because empathy and attraction were a lethal combination.
“If I find out you’re lying about any of this …” he reiterated.
“I know. You’ll destroy me. And if I find out you knowingly stole my son, all your money and power won’t stop me from coming after you.”
He almost smiled. Almost. Considering her predicament, she still had some fight in her.
That wouldn’t mix well with the attraction, either.
“The sheriff will come inside any minute,” he reminded her and himself. “If you’re here, he’ll want to know why. Are you prepared to answer his questions?”
Jackson didn’t want her out of his sight, but he also didn’t want to risk her being underfoot. He would have her followed when she left, so he could keep tabs on her until he had more information about her and her missing child.
“I’m prepared. Well, as prepared as I can be. The last time I was in protective custody, I was nearly killed.” She paused. “I suppose it could happen again. That’s the reason I’ve avoided the cops, but I’m too close to turn back now.”
It was what he expected her to say. So he had to do whatever was necessary to speed up this process and get her out of his and Caden’s lives.
“May I see Caden?” she asked.
“No.” Jackson didn’t even have to think about it.
She nodded, and paused as if she might challenge that. But she didn’t.
The intercom system made a slight buzzing sound. A moment later, his household manager, Steven Perez, spoke through the tiny speaker built into the wall. “Sheriff Gentry is out front waiting for the ambulance. He says once he has the man on the way to the hospital, he wants to speak to Bailey Hodges if she’s still on the grounds.”
The color drained from Bailey’s face. “How did the sheriff know I was here? And how did he know my name? Did you tell him?” She still didn’t look ready to bolt, but it was possible she might faint. Or hyperventilate.
“No. I didn’t tell him your name, but you can trust the sheriff,” Jackson told her. “I’ve known Alden Gentry my whole life, and he wouldn’t do anything illegal.”
Still, Bailey shook her head … and then she tried to grab his gun. He snagged her wrist, but she tried to get the weapon with her left hand.
Jackson finally just caught onto her shoulders and put her against the wall. Body-to-body. Not the brightest idea he’d ever had, but it stopped her.
“Please,” she said, her warm breath brushing against his mouth at the same time her breasts pressed against his chest.
That “please” wouldn’t work, but Jackson knew