Peekaboo Baby (13 page)

Or maybe the damage had already been done.

Anger and adrenaline surged through her. It didn't matter if the shooter was her father, one of the doctors from New Hope or even someone else. The person was
a would-be killer, and if she made it out of this alive, she would make sure he was stopped.

With his weapon in his hand, Ryan popped up long enough to look over the seat at the driver. He cursed and dropped back down. They made eye contact, and Delaney immediately saw all the emotion, all the anger, all the concern that was no doubt in her own eyes.

“It doesn't look good,” Ryan informed her in a hoarse whisper.

Ryan moved, ready to come up so he could fire. Only then did Delaney realize what a huge risk that would be.

“No!” she shouted over the shots.

But Ryan ignored her. Bracing his right wrist with his left hand, he made use of the gaping hole where the window had once been, double-tapped the trigger of his gun, and shot toward the trees where she'd seen the glint of metal.

“I won't just sit here and let him kill us,” Ryan informed her.

And with that, he came up again and fired another shot.

Delaney caught him when he came back down, and she was on the verge of telling him that she couldn't let him sacrifice his life. But then, she thought of Clancy, and she knew both she and Ryan would have to take some serious risks for all three of them to get out of this alive.

From the front seat, Clancy groaned again, and she heard a thump as if he'd collapsed onto the seat. Immediately, the car started to inch forward. The man had
probably lost consciousness, causing his foot to come off the brake.

“You return fire,” she told Ryan. “I'll see to Clancy.”

Ryan grabbed her, probably to stop her, but Delaney had no intention of just letting the driver bleed or allowing the car to go off the road. Especially since the gunman could keep them pinned there indefinitely.

“I need to do this,” she said to Ryan.

He looked ready to argue, but Delaney shook her head, indicating that this wasn't the time for a debate. Each second was vital if they hoped to keep Clancy alive.

Ryan nodded, finally. “Be careful,” he warned, and he pressed a kiss on her cheek.

She mentally counted to three and levered herself over the seat. The first thing she saw was blood and lots of it. The man had been wounded in his left shoulder.

Delaney maneuvered her body around Clancy, dropped to the floor so she'd be out of the line of fire and jammed her hand on the brake. Reaching up, she managed to put the car into Park. That was one problem solved—they wouldn't end up in the ditch—but she was left with what to do about Clancy. Because of the day-care center, she had basic first-aid training. Hardly adequate for such a serious injury. And there was no doubt in her mind that this was serious.

She used her left hand to apply pressure to the wound, and while staying down, she used the car's mobile phone to call 911. She figured they could get out
of there and meet the ambulance along the way. It would save them precious time. The emergency operator assured her that she would send the police and an ambulance immediately.

Unfortunately, immediately might not be soon enough.

“Everything will be all right, Clancy,” she promised. But Delaney had no idea if that were true.

If it would
ever
be true.

If they made it out of this alive, and that was a big
if,
this might not be the last attempt. The gunman would likely continue until they stopped him or until he managed to kill them.

She ached at the thought. At the thought of losing Ryan. Sweet heaven. How had he become such an important part of her life, and her heart, in such a short period of time?

“Ryan, please tell me you're okay,” Delaney called out.

He fired another round before he answered her. “Stay down!”

Since that lack of reassurance only made her stomach clench tighter, she nearly risked looking over the seat to check on him.

Then the shots stopped.

Delaney lay there, part of her body on the floor and the other on the seat. Listening. Waiting. Praying. For what seemed an eternity.

The silence settled in around them.

“He quit firing,” she mumbled.

“Maybe,” was Ryan's whispered response.

But the
maybe
began to look better and better when the moments slipped by.

“How's Clancy?” Ryan asked.

Delaney glanced down at the man. He was pasty-white and clearly in pain, but the pressure she was applying to the wound had slowed down the blood flow. Still, he needed medical attention. “The ambulance should be here soon.”

She hoped.

Delaney eased Clancy away from the steering wheel so she could get behind it. Thankfully, he wasn't a heavy man, but during those precious seconds, she couldn't apply pressure to his wound, and he started to bleed again. She hurried. She threw the car into gear and stomped on the accelerator. The instant she had the car moving, she clamped her right hand back over his wound.

No gunshots.

No sign of the shooter at all.

Keeping as low in the seat as she could, Delaney glanced in the rearview mirror and spotted Ryan. All his attention was pinpointed to that window. His gun, aimed. Ready to fire. In fact, his entire body was tense and ready. He stayed that way until she reached the intersection that would take them to the main highway.

Still keeping his gun in position, he took out his phone and stabbed in some numbers.

“Quentin,” she heard him say, “someone just shot at us. Clancy's hurt, and we're headed to the hospital. Make sure the guards are in place at the gate and the estate is secure. No one gets in, understand?
No one.
”

Delaney hadn't thought the knot in her stomach could get any tighter, or that her heart could pound any harder.

She was wrong.

“Patrick,” she said on a rise of breath. With the distraction of the shooting, she hadn't thought about Patrick possibly being in danger.

“Alerting Quentin and the guards is just a precaution,” Ryan assured her, meeting her eyes again in the mirror.

But it felt like more than a precaution.

A lot more.

Her baby was in danger.

“Pull every P.I. you have from their stations and get them to the estate ASAP,” Ryan continued. “Call SAPD and Sheriff Knight. Let them know what's happened.” And with that, he paused, apparently waiting for Quentin to comply. “They're on the way,” he relayed to Delaney.

Ryan paused again. “Hell,” he snarled a moment later. “When?”

That, coupled with the alarmed look on Ryan's face shot her adrenaline through the roof. Whatever Quentin had said to Ryan, it had upset him.

“Is it Patrick?” Delaney asked. She was already praying. Her son had to be all right.

“Patrick's fine,” Ryan assured her. He ended the call, and she heard him pull in a hard breath. “Someone leaked the cloning allegations to the press. And they named names.
Our names.
”

Delaney shook her head. “Who would have leaked something like that?”

“The watchdog group, maybe. Or maybe it was Keyes or Montgomery. Maybe even the missing lab tech, Noel Kendall. He's in hiding, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't make a phone call to a reporter.”

Because she'd feared much worse news, the leak didn't seem like such a dreadful thing.

Until it sank in.

“How and when did the leak happen?” Delaney wanted to know.

“This morning. It was in the
San Antonio Express-News.
”

In other words, hours ago. Plenty of time for her father to read it.

And react.

Her father could have been the gunman hiding behind those trees. A cowardly act that could have left all three of them dead.

But Ryan was right. This didn't rule out the two doctors. After all, one could have leaked the info; the other could have decided to do something about it.

Stunned and angry, and getting angrier with each passing moment, Delaney focused on the road ahead. On the drive. Once Clancy was in the ambulance, she was going to the police and insist they bring her father in for questioning.

And, by God, the man better have answers.

Ryan had just finished his phone conversation with Quentin when he heard the sound. Not the rain, even though outside there were the rumblings of a storm moving in.

What he heard was a welcome sound, one he desperately needed to soothe some of the anger and fear that was building inside him right along with the storm.

He made his way from his office to the open doorway of the nursery and stood quietly while he watched Delaney and Patrick. Both were on a quilt on the floor. Patrick, on his back. Delaney, on her side. She was playing Little Piggy with his toes, and Patrick was giggling. Even though thick clouds hid the moon and the room was dimly lit, the sounds of their laughter filled the air with warmth and light. And the warmth and light made it all the way to Ryan's heart.

It was a feeling he wouldn't take for granted.

Earlier, he'd glanced at the security monitor while he
made his calls, and he'd seen Delaney dressing Patrick after his bath. Now, his son was wearing one-piece pj's, decorated with frogs and ducks, and he smelled like baby powder.

Delaney's scent was there, too. Her shampoo from the shower she'd taken after they returned from the police station. He could smell her soap. Something tropical that she'd used to wash the blood off her.

Clancy's blood.

It could have just as easily been hers.

He'd nearly lost her today.
Again.
In this case three times was definitely not a charm. The ditch. The fire. The shooting. Ryan was willing to bet his right arm that the same person was responsible for all three attempts. Sloppy execution of equally sloppy and risky plans.

Yet, each one had come damn close to succeeding.

Sometimes a person didn't have to be good to succeed. Just lucky.

Smiling, still gently wiggling Patrick's toes, Delaney leaned over and kissed the baby's cheek. Patrick yawned and rubbed his eyes.

Ryan savored the scene in front of him for several moments before he stepped inside, knowing it would put a halt to the play. And it did. Delaney's head whipped in his direction, the questions were all over her face.

“How's Clancy?” Her whispered voice didn't mask the concern. No way. It was there, as it had been on her
face and in her voice all afternoon. Ryan didn't expect it to go away anytime soon.

“He's stable. The doctors say he's going to be fine, but he'll have to stay in the hospital a few days. He's already complaining about the food. A good sign.”

The relief she felt was all over her face. “What about your call to Sheriff Knight?”

Because Ryan wasn't totally ready to let go of the Little Piggy moment, he eased down onto the floor next to them. Patrick turned in his direction.

“The police still haven't located Dr. Keyes,” Ryan explained. While the topic of conversation was definitely serious, he tried to smile so he wouldn't alarm his son. “And the P.I.s who were watching your father and Dr. Montgomery say neither man left his residence.”

“They could have slipped out.”

“Absolutely. And that's why SAPD is questioning them as we speak.”

Delaney's mouth tightened. “I should have been there for that.”

“No. You shouldn't have. You're exactly where you belong—safe and sound.”

She dropped back, lying on the floor, and she stared at the ceiling. “But for how long?”

He'd asked himself that a hundred times while they were doing reports at police headquarters, and the only answer he could live with was
forever.
The shooting incident had hit too close to home in a lot of ways.

Because both of them needed it, Ryan touched her arm and rubbed gently.

She turned her head, glanced over at him and then at Patrick, who was between them. “So we just stay here, locked away, doing nothing?” she asked.

“We're doing something. We're waiting—where it's safe—and we're playing with Patrick. Personally, I can't think of a better way to spend the evening.”

As if sensing he was now the center of attention, Patrick babbled some syllables. Kicked his legs. Gave a little grumble of protest. And rubbed his eyes again.

“It's his bedtime,” Delaney said. She sat up and rolled her shoulders. “Mine, too. It's been a long day.”

Ryan couldn't argue with her. The day had been so
eventful
that Delaney had seemingly forgotten he'd proposed to her in the limo. Or maybe she'd just intentionally pushed it out of her memory. The ploy wouldn't work. He'd remind her of his offer in the morning. Somehow he had to convince her that he would be part of Patrick's and her lives.

She stood, scooping up Patrick in her arms, and took him to the crib where she placed him on his side. He made a few more sounds of protest, which ended when Delaney turned on the cheery mobile. Patrick's sleepy gaze went right to it, and with his eyelids already lowering, he watched the tiny safari animals circle around to the music.

Ryan waited while Delaney went through the ritual
that was already becoming familiar to him. She kissed Patrick, murmuring something soft and soothing, and she rubbed his belly, her fingers moving in small, gentle circles.

“Maybe the police will have answers for us tomorrow,” she whispered.

Her statement had a good-night ring to it, and Ryan decided she was both exhausted and probably wanted some time alone with Patrick.

Ryan obliged her. “See you in the morning.” He kissed Patrick's cheek. Kissed hers, as well. And he headed back to finish up his calls.

He didn't shut the nursery door or the one to his office, so he could still hear the music coming from the mobile. Soothing, in a way. And in another way, it was a reminder that despite all his money, efforts and good intentions, he couldn't say with a one-hundred-percent certainty that Patrick was safe.

Neither was Delaney.

That put him face-to-face with all the old fears, and he cursed himself for getting too close to her. For wanting her.

And for needing her.

But while he cursed himself, Ryan knew there'd been no choice. Caring for Delaney seemed as natural as breathing.

He glanced down at his wedding ring.
You're already married,
she had accused. But she was wrong. He
wasn't. Ryan could pinpoint the exact moment he'd no longer felt like a married man. It happened that night she'd visited him. Actually, it had happened the very moment he laid eyes on her, and he knew there was no going back.

Heck, he didn't want to go back.

Ryan tugged off his ring, opened his upper right desk drawer, and placed it next to Adam's picture. This had become his memory drawer. And it contained his past.

But right down the hall was his future. His son and his son's mother. That didn't mean he would forget Sandra and Adam. That would
never
happen. However, he wouldn't let their memory stop him from reaching for what he could have now. A life with Delaney and Patrick.

“You can put the ring back on,” he heard Delaney say.

He raised his head and saw her standing in the doorway. She looked much like she had that evening of her first visit. Except tonight she wasn't drenched or shell-shocked. She wore a pair of pale green cotton lounging pajamas. Baggy and probably unappealing on anyone else. But not on Delaney.

“It's time to put it away,” Ryan said. “
Past time.
Sandra would have never wanted me to die with her that day. And that's what I'd tried to do.”

He shut the drawer. No booming thunder or slash of lightning to signal the closure. No dramatic cosmic or spiritual event of any kind. But Ryan knew it was the
first real step he'd taken toward healing. “Sandra would have liked you, you know that?”

Delaney shook her head. “It doesn't seem as if we had much in common.”

“You're wrong. You both had your priorities right. Family first. That's where I fell short. I measured my success by my investment portfolio and the number of businesses I accumulated.”

Ryan wouldn't make that mistake again. He had enough money to last him several lifetimes, and he was already taking steps to restructure his company so he'd have more time to spend with Patrick.

If Delaney allowed it, that is.

Nature versus nurture aside, Patrick might be his biological son, but it was Delaney who was responsible for the happy, well-adjusted baby in the nursery.

“Is he asleep?” Ryan asked.

“Yes.” She motioned toward his desk. “Do you have a surveillance monitor somewhere around? He's probably zonked out for the night, but I still like the idea of being able to check on him while we talk.”

Ryan angled the computer screen so she could see it, and with a few clicks on the keyboard, they had a panoramic view of the nursery. Not just the crib. But every corner of the room.

“Thanks. I'm feeling overprotective these days.” An understatement. Ryan could tell she was anxious and had something on her mind. Hence the
while we talk
comment.

She shut the door to his office quietly and walked to his desk. No heels clicking on the hardwood floor tonight. She was barefoot, her pink toenails peeking out from the bottom of the pj's. “I've been thinking about what you said in the limo, before the gunman opened fire.”

Ryan was more than surprised that she'd decided to bring it up. Especially since she'd avoided it all afternoon and evening. “About my marriage proposal?”

“Yes.” She paused, pursed her lips. “I think you'll agree it's the worst idea you've ever had.”

That stung a little. He certainly hadn't thought she would embrace the idea without an argument, but he hadn't expected a total dismissal, either. “It would solve a lot of our issues.”

“So you've said. But it would also solve a lot if Patrick and I just stayed put. I mean, we're here already, and with the danger, there's no way I can go home. And you were right—we'll be safe.”

She sounded convinced that it was the right solution. But her body language contradicted everything. She reached for her ring, probably to twist it, but instead put her hands behind her back.

“We're going to get the person responsible, Delaney. I promise you.”

“I don't doubt it. I don't doubt
you.
But it might not happen anytime soon, and I can't risk Patrick's life by returning to my house.” She huffed and glanced at the
monitor. “Or by losing my temper and trying to barge in on an official interrogation.”

“Glad you agree.” Not that he would have let her anywhere near her father or Dr. Emmett Montgomery. The idea was to keep them as far away from Patrick and her as possible.

“That doesn't mean I won't talk to my father. You said it yourself—the P.I. spotted him on the very road where the shooting occurred. Maybe he was canvassing the place so he could find the right spot to ambush us.”

That was Ryan's theory, too. Of course, it didn't rule out Keyes or Montgomery having done the same damn thing. Heck, there were times when he wondered if all three of them were in this together.

The lightning came without warning. A slash through the darkness and the rain. A vein of golden light. Followed by the thunder. He automatically turned away from the window. Nothing obvious. He didn't want Delaney to notice.

But she noticed anyway.

“Are you okay?”

He tried to toss it off with a shrug. “I don't care much for storms.”

She walked to the window and looked out. “My mom didn't like them, either. Actually, they terrified her. When I was staying with her and one would hit, she'd cover her fear by trying to turn it into a party. Pizza. Popcorn. Ice cream. Lots of TV. Anything to keep her mind off it.”

“Did it work?”

“Not for my mom. But since those were the rare occasions that she allowed me to eat junk food and watch TV, I didn't have the same reaction she did. For me, storms create a sense of anticipation.
Good
anticipation.”

“Conditioned responses,” he mumbled.

The security lights filtering through the rain-streaked windows created some interesting shadows. The shadows seemed to be streaming down her body, caressing her.

Or maybe he was simply projecting his own erotic thoughts.

Watching her, he started to project other thoughts, as well. Not sexual ones. But rather thoughts and concerns that dealt with security and potential gunmen lurking in the woods. Because he didn't like her standing in front of the window, Ryan caught her arm and eased her to the side.

His side.

Delaney studied their new positions, which likely violated her personal space, before she studied him. “You think the gunman might still be out there?”

“Not likely. But why take the risk?”

She stiffened, and her attention flew to the monitor. Probably to check and make sure Patrick's crib wasn't near a window. It wasn't. That wasn't by accident, either. It had been the top specification Ryan had given to Lena when he asked her to set up the nursery. Of course, at the time, he hadn't considered gunmen and rifles, but he hadn't wanted anyone to be able to observe
their movements with long-range surveillance equipment. That was the very reason he hadn't taken Patrick and Delaney outside on the grounds.

Obviously satisfied that Patrick was all right, Delaney turned her attention back to him. “What conditioned you to dislike storms?”

Ryan almost told her. A mechanical response. But then, he realized it was no longer so mechanical, because, mingled with those horrific memories, were more recent ones. Of the stormy night of Delaney's first visit. And her presence now. That was the thing about memories and conditioned responses.

New ones could be made to erase the bad ones.

If he allowed them to be made, that is.

“Storms,” she repeated, her voice whispery and tentative. “And the car accident where you lost your family. They're connected?”