Find My Baby (2 page)

“If you don’t, it’s going to go hard on you,” the woman said, her voice quiet and firm.

“I want my baby. Tell me and I’ll let you out.”

“Never happen,” the man said.

For a moment, anguish swamped her, blinding her, robbing her of her ability to move.

Kayla had never hated anyone in her life. But right now she hated the two people screaming at her on the other side of the door. She wanted to hurt them, force them to tell her what she wanted to know.

The front door opened, yanking her back to reality. Fear mixed with grief. They said someone was coming.

Inching her way around the corner, she quickly headed for the kitchen and, hopefully, a back door.

From the front of the house, boots scraped across the floor while her prisoners pounded on the door. Booted footsteps quickened.

Frantic, Kayla grabbed at the first thing on the counter. If forced, she would defend herself. She looked down to find a small breast pump in her hand. Putting the pump in the pocket of her sweats, she ran out the back door and quietly closed it. Before it shut, she heard the door of the room she’d been held in being unlocked and three voices babbling.

She ran into the darkness, away from her prison, barely able to see where she was going.

Were there neighbors? She didn’t see any lights so assumed not.

It wasn’t long before heavy footsteps pounded behind her. It wasn’t her jailers she was sure. It wouldn’t be the overweight woman, maybe the tall, pony-tailed guy. But she didn’t think so.

She ran straight into the woods. Ran until her breath came in hurting, frantic gasps.

Dry leaves and brush crunched beneath her fast-moving feet. Curses followed her headlong plunge into dense trees.

The moon peeked from behind the clouds, barely allowing her to see where she was going as she dodged between trees. Thick, prickly bushes caught and tore at her clothes and skin. Though her knees threatened to buckle, she pushed on.

A shot rang out. Her heart skipped a beat and she stumbled, got her footing and staggered on. Zigzagging between trees, she tried to keep them between her and the bullets.

Two more shots exploded in the silence. One thudded into a nearby tree. Too close.

A tree, larger than the others, loomed in the distance. Just make it to the tree.

Breathing hard, she pressed her back against the trunk. Her pursuer was almost on her. She looked around for something­­—anything—to defend herself with.

There. A tree limb. Just right. Not too large, but large enough for what she intended.

Picking it up, she took a firm grasp, raised it to her right shoulder, and waited. A man lumbered past the tree; a man way too big to be her captor. The gun. She took aim at his outstretched arm and swung.

“Bitch!” He yelled, howling in pain as the gun spun off into the brush.

It would take him a few minutes to find it. She took off running again.

“Kayla!” the man called out.

He knew her name. Fear sent her flying.

His voice held the trace of an accent she couldn’t place. Who was he?

“Stop! We need to talk!”

“In your dreams,” she muttered, putting as much distance between them as possible. Unless she got away, she was minutes away from dying. And if she died who would find Sam?

Ignoring the stitch in her side, the pain in her chest, Kayla hurled herself through brush that pulled and scraped at her, past trees that loomed without warning directly in her path.

Curses followed her.

She was a few yards ahead of him when the moon moved behind a cloud. In the darkness, she stumbled to her knees.

Grabbing at a tree trunk, she pulled herself up with a resolve from somewhere deep inside herself.

Two more shots rang out. He’d found the gun.

Running as hard as she could, she prayed for a miracle.

A road appeared up ahead. Her legs trembled from the unaccustomed exertion as she gave one more push.

Finally, she reached it and could see where she was going. So could he. Another shot. She dropped to her knees, praying the clouds would cover the moon again. At least in the dark she had a chance.

Two more shots. Closer. Nothing could save her now.

On her knees, her breath nonexistent, a movement to her right caught her attention. An eighteen-wheeler lit up like a Christmas tree. Lights circled the top and the base of the trailer, lights coming straight at her.

Another shot zinged close to her head. She struggled to her feet, ran toward the truck.

Holding up both arms, she stepped in front of it.

Air brakes screamed in the darkness.

The last thing she heard before blackness descended was the man behind her, almost on her, shouting a promise, “Kayla Hunter! You’re a dead woman.”

****

At this hour of the night, Kayla had thought Houston’s police station would be quiet with dim lights, muted voices, and little traffic; like a hospital in the middle of the night when the patients were asleep.

But curses from those handcuffed and led to cells echoed through the space. Blue uniformed officers manhandled those unwilling to cooperate.

A middle-aged man staggered between two officers and suddenly lurched out of their grip. Kayla held her breath as he ducked his head like a football player and tried to barrel his way out the door. Missing the opening, he banged his head against the wall. Laughing, the officers grabbed him by each arm and none too gently led him away.

Kayla turned her attention to the kid across the room. Handcuffed to a chair, he looked all of thirteen. She felt sorry for him until she saw the hard look in his eyes, the sneer on his lips.

This was her first encounter with the police. Not even a traffic or parking ticket. Would they believe her story? Help her find Sam?

Panic started its familiar dance through her system. Taking a deep breath, she coughed as breath caught in her throat. Be strong. Think of Sam.

A female officer came toward her. Tidy, chin length brown hair framed a thin, hawk-like face. Dark eyes flashed over Kayla. In those few seconds, Kayla knew the officer had sized her up and determined whether she was going to be helpful or not, whether she was going to believe Kayla or not.

“I’m Detective Molly Wagner,” the detective said, leading the way to a small room down the hall.

“Will you help me find Sam?” Kayla asked.

“Let’s start at the beginning. Tell me what happened,” Detective Wagner said, motioning Kayla to take a seat.

Swallowing down her panic, she told how she was kidnapped, delivered Sam and finally, weeks later, escaped. “If Buddy Thorpe hadn’t stopped his eighteen-wheeler,” Kayla concluded, “I’d be dead. The man chasing me shot several times. Buddy scared him off. When the police came, I told them what happened. They drove me around for about thirty minutes trying to find the house.” She shook her head. “It was impossible in the dark. Then they brought me here. I don’t know who the kidnappers were. I certainly don’t know why they sent someone to kill me. I only know they took Sam and I have to find him.”

“I see,” Detective Wagner said, giving Kayla a searching look. “Do you think you can find the house in daylight?

Kayla rubbed her forehead. She’d been in the back of a van when taken there. It was dark when she’d escaped. “I’ll find it,” she said grimly.

The detective gave her a skeptical look. “Two people, a man and a woman, kept you in a house for weeks and you don’t know where. You gave birth and they took your son away. You escaped while your captors were in the bathroom cleaning, then someone else came into the house and you ran. The man running after you had a gun and tried to kill you. Now the baby is missing? Did I get it right?”

“That’s about it.” Kayla leaned across the table. “If you’ll give me paper and pen, I’ll draw their picture. Sam’s too. Then you’ll have something to go on.”

In seconds, the detective had a pad and pen. It didn’t take Kayla long to draw the likeness of the woman kidnapper, drew the male with a mask. But his long ponytail and pockmarked face would be recognizable. Then she took another piece of paper and drew a sketch of Sam. “Isn’t he beautiful?” she asked when she finished.

Looking into the face of the baby, the detective smiled. “He is.”

“You’ll help me find him?”

“First, let’s have you checked out,” Detective Wagner said, as she pushed back her chair and took Kayla’s arm.

“Where are we going?”

“The hospital. Let’s see if they knew what they were doing when you delivered.”

Kayla balked. “I’m fine. You have to concentrate on Sam.” Her pleas fell on deaf ears.

Two hours later they were back at the station. Kayla was put in the same room, at the same table, her hands twisting in her lap.

Where was the detective? What was she doing?

Kayla hated this waiting. It was time lost when they should be looking for Sam.

Her head swam. She rubbed at it, begged her brain to think.

Glancing up, she saw the mirror, wondered who was behind it watching—listening.

Did they believe her?

If so, they were asking all the wrong questions.

She shivered. What would she do if they didn’t look for Sam? What if they didn’t believe her? How could she find him on her own?

The door opened and Detective Wagner walked back in. Kayla sat up straighter. She had to make this woman believe her.

The detective took a seat and asked the same questions she’d already asked. Kayla tried to answer without letting her frustration show.

Then in a crisp, no-nonsense voice, the detective snapped, “Tell me what you did with your baby, Kayla!”

Kayla looked at the woman in horror. “I didn’t,” she sputtered. “Call the FBI. They’ll find Sam. Please,” she begged. “You can’t possibly think I hurt him.”

The detective jotted notes on a yellow pad, lifted her eyes and stared at Kayla. “It’ll go better for you if you tell us the truth.”

“I did. You have to believe me! I didn’t hurt Sam! I wouldn’t hurt him. Ever.”

Kayla couldn’t control herself any longer. Her hands shook as she grabbed the detective’s arm. “Please.”

But the woman just sat there looking at her with total distrust.

Kayla dropped her head in her hands. There had to be a way. Had to be.

Lifting her head, she said, “I need to use the restroom.”

Chapter Two

Thirty minutes later, Kayla slumped in the back seat of a yellow cab, drew a deep breath, and wondered what to do next. She had to find a safe place to hide until she could formulate a plan to search for Sam.

Where would that be?

She had no close friends. No relatives. She sat up as a thought came to her. There was one. And Kayla knew where she lived.

“Where to, Lady?” the driver asked.

“Do you know where the Wal-Mart is off I-45?”

“There’s a couple. Which one?”

She told him and sat back. Aunt Nester lived a few blocks from the big box store; at least she had when Kayla was younger. Her mom had made the comment more than once that Nester would die in that house, that she had no ambition to move, or to travel.

It sounded wonderful to Kayla, whose life had been spent moving from one town to another while her mother searched for whatever she was trying to find. Whatever it was, she never found it, and had died of cancer in a in a small town with no friends or relatives to mourn her passing.

Her aunt was twenty years older than Kayla’s mother. So that made her at least seventy. Was she still alive? Was she too old to help? Would she take one look at Kayla and turn her out?

The questions pounded in her head as the cab sped down the Texas freeway. They were there all too soon.

“It’s after midnight, Lady. Store isn’t open. You sure you want out here?”

Kayla nodded, then paid him with the emergency money she always kept in the lining of her shoe and stepped out into the cold night air.

Orientating herself, she started out for the six-block walk.

By the time she knocked on her aunt’s door, her teeth were chattering from both cold and from anxiety.

“I’m coming.” A woman’s voice came from inside. “Who is it?”

“Aunt Nester, let me in.”

“Do I know you?” the voice spoke through the door.

“Please, Aunt Nester. It’s Kayla. Let me in. I can explain.”

“Kayla?” she asked in a disbelieving voice. “Meredith’s daughter?”

“Yes! Please. Hurry!”

She was freezing and didn’t know how much longer she could handle the cold. But thank God, her aunt was still here, living in the same house she’d lived in when Kayla’s mother was growing up.

Nester opened the door. Kayla fell in.

“Good Lord, child, you’re frozen.” And took a step back. “You
are
Kayla. You’re the spitting image of your mother.”

Kayla stood in the warmth, let it wash over her, soothe her. The woman who stared at her as if she were either a mirage or a wild woman looked nothing like Kayla’s mother.

She looked down at herself; her sweats were torn and dirty, her body shaking. What must this aunt she hadn’t seen in years think?

Seeing the concern in the older woman’s eyes, Kayla ran to her, wrapped her arms around her neck. “Please help me, Aunt Nester. I’m in trouble. I had nowhere else to go.”

Nester’s arms went around Kayla, and despite the circumstance of her dilemma, warmth stole over her. The warmth disappeared for a moment as her aunt rushed into the next room, then came back with a quilt and wrapped it around Kayla’s shoulders. “It’s all right, child. Come. We’ll sit in the living room and you can tell me all about it.”

“Please help me, Aunt Nester. They kidnapped me and stole Sam. I escaped, but someone tried to kill me. Now the police think I killed my baby.”

Aunt Nester gave a startled gasp, then looked as if she didn’t know where to begin to ask questions.

Kayla shouldn’t have come here. Aunt Nester was too old to get involved in something so horrible and so dangerous. What was she thinking? But she needed to be somewhere safe.

“I haven’t seen you since you were a little girl. Now you show up in the wee hours of the morning to tell me about a kidnapping and attempted murder.” She laid a hand against her heart. “Are you sure you’re not exaggerating? Murder and kidnapping are serious business.”