Right by Her Side (16 page)

Then Charlie had outlined the next phase of his plan—stealing American babies from poor mothers and selling them to the wealthy. “After the first abduction, I told Charlie I wouldn't do it anymore. But he threatened to tell Nancy about our crimes. I knew she'd hate me if she found out, and worse, hate herself for being involved with someone like me.”

But she'd proven her mettle once again. When Everett had told her everything, she'd cried. But she'd cried for them both.

“So where does the shell game with the sperm vials come in?”

Everett flushed. “That was all Charlie's idea. It wasn't about money. That's what I don't know—why Charlie went after Children's Connection from that angle.”

Agent Delane looked skeptical again. “So it was just another of Charlie's ideas?”

Everett met his gaze. “Yes. He seemed determined to tarnish the clinic's reputation in every way he could.”

“Well, Everett, you sure make yourself out to be the
lesser of two evils.” There was more than a hint of a sneer in Agent Delane's voice. “Maybe Nancy's right about you.”

She should hate him. But she didn't. It was that goodness in her, that goodness that she said she saw in
him,
that had made him want to atone for all his misdeeds. If Nancy, the woman he loved, thought he was worth something, then by God he was going to prove she was right.

Detective Levine licked his finger and paged back through his notes. “But wait. You said your name isn't Everett Baker. What's that about?”

That was the irony, the agony, the essence of it all. “Before the woman who made me call her Mom died, she told me something that put together puzzling memories and fears I'd had for as long as I could remember. She told me that her husband had kidnapped me when I was six years old. There was a scrapbook of clippings she had about the case. When she showed it to me, I believed her. That's why I moved to Portland after she was gone. I wanted to…come home.”

To at least be close to the family he had failed. How could he have forgotten them? How could he have lost the faith so easily?

The men on the other side of the table were staring at him and frowning. “Who the hell are you really, Everett?” Detective Levine demanded.

“Robbie.” At the sound of the name, the memories he'd retained flickered to life. Opening a Christmas gift. A baseball game, with a man's hand passing him a hot dog. It was the best hot dog he'd ever tasted in his
life, he remembered that. His memory of his mother was only a smell, a perfume that he could never forget because it seemed to have cookies and blankets and flowers all wrapped up within it. There were others, and they'd finally made sense to him once he'd learned his true identity.

He looked up at the two other men. “My real name is Robbie Logan.”

 

Rebecca had fallen asleep shortly after the eleven o'clock news, and, not knowing what to do with himself, Trent had gone home. Maybe he should have stayed with her at the hospital, but she'd gazed on him with such sadness that he'd decided to give her some space. Perhaps looking at her husband made her only more despondent about her lost baby.

Of course he hadn't told her he loved her. It seemed too risky when she was so shadow-eyed and quiet. So he'd stuffed all his emotions deeper inside himself, as far as they could go, in order to provide for her what she needed most. Someone calm. Rational. Reasonable. Logical.

But that was yesterday. After a sleepless night, Trent was rushing back to the hospital. Danny had told him to stick close to her. Katie had advised him to tell her he loved her.

He'd done neither, and the pale-rose dawn had told him that might be the biggest mistake of all.

It was sometime before 7:00 a.m. as he hurried down the hall to Rebecca's room. He hoped to find her still
asleep so that when she opened her eyes he'd be right where he'd been the night before. Then he'd tell her how much she meant to him. Then he'd do what he had to do to keep her close.

The door to her room was open.

A murmur of voices drifted out of it.

She wasn't alone, he thought, pausing just outside. He looked in. She wasn't asleep, either.

She was fully dressed and surrounded by a knot of nurses.

In the midst of them, Rebecca was still Rebecca. Instead of playing patient, she was doing for others. Asking one woman about her husband. Asking another about their favorite patient, Merry. All with a sewing needle in her hand, as she repaired the pocket on the smock of a third woman.

How could he have ever labeled any woman “selfish” when knowing Rebecca swept away all sweeping generalizations?

In his chest, his heart moved. No, it grew, making it hard for him to breathe. “Rebecca.” His voice came out hoarse.

She looked up. There were still shadows beneath her big Bambi eyes. He hated those shadows.

One of the other nurses smiled at him. “There's your handsome husband, Rebecca. You have him take you home and pamper you. Only Chinese food and hot fudge sundaes for the next week. Seven days of that and I guarantee the blues will be banished.”

Rebecca half smiled, looking less-than-half con
vinced. “Don't let the staff nutritionist hear that prescription, Donna.”

“Just give yourself time, honey,” Donna said, then gestured to include the two other nurses. “Remember that the three of us have been through it.”

“The four of us,” Rebecca added.

Donna nodded toward Trent. “Make that five, right?”

Rebecca said nothing.

The other women started moving for the door. Trent stepped aside to let them pass. One patted his arm, one patted his cheek, one squeezed his hand. Nurses were touchy-feely people, all of them.

He headed toward Rebecca, but this particular touchy-feely nurse stiffened as he neared, and leaped away from the bed. Her flowers and gifts sat in two cardboard boxes on the mattress.

Her obvious tension put him off his game again. He cleared his throat. “Did the doctor come by? Is there anything new?”

She shook her head. “He only reiterated what he said yesterday. There's nothing physical about me to account for the…the loss.” Her gaze flicked to his face, flicked away. “He said it was no problem. That I'll be able to have another child.”

Trent's heart made the painful expansion again. Damn that doctor. That had been the wrong thing to say to Rebecca. He could see how wrong it had been, clear as day, by the bleak expression on her face.

No problem. Another child.

His heart was choking him again.

Hadn't he always known the damn things—hearts—were an inconvenience, if not out-and-out dangerous? He swallowed, stuffing everything back down inside again.

It was no time to get sentimental. It was time to be strong for Rebecca and get her back home where she belonged.

R
elief rushed through Rebecca as she walked into Trent's house. Not because the place felt homey, but here were her clothes, her books, her keys. Here she could pick up her life and move on with it.

Another base posting. Think of it as just another base posting.

“Everything okay?” Trent asked.

She realized she was standing in the foyer, staring at the arrangement on the dining room table. As usual, the fresh flowers were tortured into a stiff and spiky arrangement. In the past she would have released the gladiolus and Queen Anne's lace from their formal prison, setting them free to arch and bow in their natural
shapes, but the only thing she was interested in liberating now was herself.

Inhaling a breath, she turned to Trent. “I'll be out of your hair by the time you get home from work.”

“Work?” He frowned. “I'm not going in to work today.”

Rebecca shrugged. “Regardless, I'll start moving my things right away.”

“What the hell do you mean by that?” His voice was cool, each word given precision and weight. Even the curse word sounded calm, controlled.

“Trent.” She lifted a hand, let it fall. “Our agreement is null and void, right? Because…well, because our baby is null and void.” The phrase sounded ugly to her own ears, but she thought it was language that the CEO of Crosby Systems would understand.

His eyes narrowed. “So you're saying it's over. Everything we had.”

“Everything we had is gone.” She turned to walk up the stairs, aware he was following her. Rebecca wouldn't be able to pack to leave him if he was watching. “I don't need any help. I can do this by myself.”

“Yeah, right,” he muttered. “That's how you got both of us into this mess, isn't it? You thinking you could have a baby on your own.”

Anger sparked inside her as she marched into the master bedroom and then to the closet. “And I could have done it by myself. That you were involved was something entirely unexpected. That you were Eisenhower's father was a—”

“Don't say mistake,” he said flatly. “Don't you dare call it a mistake.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes as she grabbed an armful of clothes off the closet pole. “Still unable to admit to anything human like one of those, Trent?” Realizing she didn't have a suitcase out, she crossed to the bed and dropped her load on the mattress.

“Don't do this, Rebecca.”

She forced herself to look at him. “I'm sorry, Trent. You're right. You're a good man. I truly believe that. A good man and a conscientious one. But your responsibilities are over now.”

“Rebecca…”

He had to let her go. He had to let her go while she was still dry-eyed. “We have nothing in common, Trent. Wasn't that clear to both of us? The CEO and the nurse. The woman who was used to home-cooked meals and the man accustomed to country-club business dinners. While I appreciate that your conscience won't let you kick me out—”

“Yes, I'm not kicking you out, let's get that very clear. For the record, apparently you're walking out.”

And if he didn't look so contained, it might be harder. But his face was set in composed lines, as if they were discussing points on a contract instead of the rest of their lives. His rigid posture reminded her of those tortured flowers downstairs. “Let me go now, Trent. It will come to that, anyway.”

“Are you so sure? What about—” He broke off, spun
around. With quick strides he took himself to the window and stared out.

Rebecca sank to the mattress. “What about what?”

“We were good together in bed. We were good with each other's friends. My family likes you.”

Rebecca heard his mother's voice, from the country-club dance.
Marrying a Crosby is always a mistake.
“That's not enough for me, Trent.”

“There is more, damn it.” But despite the heated words, his voice was cool, his expression was cool as he turned to face her again. “I know there's more between us.”

“Like what?” She was so tired. She wanted to go somewhere, curl up alone and try to heal her broken heart. Noticing that one of his dress shirts was on the top of her pile, she lifted it, meaning to put it aside. Instead, bowing her head, she crushed it against her. As protection? As comfort? “Like what, Trent? Name something. Name one thing more.”

“Love.”

Her gaze jerked up. Had he guessed? Did he know? Did he want her to stay because he felt sorry for her? As obligated now by her feelings as he had been when she was pregnant with his baby? Her fingers tightened on the crisp cotton shirt. “You don't believe in love.”

“What if I told you different?” He made a short, vague gesture. “I've seen love around here. Felt it.”

So he did know she was in love with him. And he was trying to mirror it back to her.

Oh, God, he was good. A good man for taking his
responsibilities so seriously. But he'd had other times, more appropriate times, to share his feelings with her, meaning this was just another of his business strategies—tell the opponent exactly what they want to hear. Not that he'd been able to put voice to the words, anyway.

“Trent, you don't look like a man who feels love. You look like a man who sets his mind on something and then sticks to it. But you can let it go now, Trent. You can let
me
go.”

“Rebecca—”

“You can't go through the motions and call it love, Trent. I'm sorry, but you're too dispassionate a man ever to make me believe it.”

And as if to prove her point, without another word her husband walked out of the room and out of the house and out of her life.

 

Without thinking, Trent drove to Crosby Systems and walked past Claudine's empty desk to retreat to his office. He shut the door behind him and put his mahogany desk between himself and the rest of the world.

This
was his world, he thought, staring down at the piles of reports and pink slip messages stacked up on the surface.
This
would always be here to fill his time and give his life meaning.

Trent, you don't look like a man who feels love.

You can't go through the motions and call it love, Trent. I'm sorry, but you're too dispassionate a man ever to make me believe it.

The intercom buzzed. He pressed the answer button. “Yes?”

Claudine's voice lashed him. “What are you doing here?”

“I run the place.” He flicked off the button.

Another buzz. Angry, like a bee intent on stinging. Latching tight his iron control, he answered again. “Yes?”

“What are you doing here today?”

What else was there to do? His wife was packing up to leave him, and he'd decided not to stick around and watch. Even if he had told her to stay because he loved her, she wouldn't have believed him. So what was the point?

“What are you doing here
today?
” Claudine demanded again.

“Working, you fishwife,” he told Claudine through the intercom. “Work is what I do.”

Since he'd said it, he'd have to follow through with it. He pulled closer to him the nearest file and opened the manila cover. Then slammed it shut. It was a file he'd borrowed from Katie—from Peter, really. His brother-in-law had done exhaustive research on the best strollers, crib mattresses and baby seats.

Trent had borrowed it. Now he couldn't bear having the damn thing in his office. Deciding to have Katie come retrieve it, he buzzed her office. No answer.

Fine. He stuffed the plump file at the bottom of the pile on his desk and picked up the next in the stack. But the one on the bottom continued to distract him. A slick
magazine article was half sticking out, giving him a glimpse of a stuffed animal.

With a curse, he tried his sister's office again. Again, no answer. He tried her assistant. No answer.

He buzzed Claudine. “Where the hell is everybody?” he demanded.

Her sigh gusted through the speaker. “Who do you need, boss?”

Rebecca. Eisenhower. He needed his life as it had been shaping up to be. He shoved the thoughts from his head. “Where's my sister?” The file was glowing like uranium.

“At home.”

“Home? Isn't she a vice president here? Doesn't she have something to do that is business-related?”

“She's working from home today, you tyrant. Perhaps you should do the same.”

He scowled at the intercom. “You're fired. Work up the papers.”

“Fine, I'll get right on it next week. Sooner, if you don't screw your head on straight, Trent. You have another place to be now. Other things to tend to.”

“Rebecca wants to be alone.” He couldn't admit she didn't want him. Not yet. “She's upset about the miscarriage.”

“Aren't you?”

“Of course.” Yes. But he wasn't going to think about it. How could another child be lost? No, no, no. His heart was expanding again, crowding out everything in his chest so his breath couldn't make it to his lungs.
Forget about the baby. Forget about everything but work.

His gaze caught on that infant paraphernalia file again. He had to get rid of the damned thing. “I have a short errand. You can reach me at Katie's.”

A short drive later, his sister answered her door with words that echoed Claudine's. “What are you doing here?”

He shoved the file folder at her. “I brought you this.” As he turned away, she grabbed his arm.

“Not so fast. I want to hear how Rebecca's doing. How
you're
doing.”

“You don't need to worry about me. Rebecca's leaving.”

“What?”

What it was, was that he'd been duped again, he decided. Before he'd met Rebecca, he'd been smart. He'd been aware that love was a myth that people like his sister and Peter told themselves to weave something spiritual into their sexual attraction. But then Rebecca had come along. All her softness had rubbed away the hard edges of his cynicism. He'd let himself get vulnerable again—to her, to feeling.

It had all gone to hell once he stopped expecting the worst of people, he realized. “Same song, second verse,” he said to his sister.

“What?” Then her gaze darted over his shoulder. “We can't talk about this right at the moment. The police have just arrived.”

Trent blinked, then glanced around. “The police?”

“My in-laws are inside and some detectives called not long ago, wanting to speak with them. To make a long story short, they're meeting here.”

“I'll go—”

“No!” Katie's grip on his arm tightened. “I don't want you getting away from me until we've had a chance to talk this out.”

Trent didn't know why he let her drag him into the house. Well, yeah, he did. He didn't want to be alone with his own company now. As Katie greeted the police officers, he poked his head into the living room to say hello to Peter and his parents. “I'll just hang out in your study, if that's okay,” he said to his brother-in-law.

It was Mrs. Logan who answered, giving him another of her warm, wonderful smiles. “Trent, you're family, remember? And we're told this has something to do with Children's Connection. You already know what's been going on there, so sit down.” She glanced at her husband. “Terrence agrees with me, right?”

Though Terrence didn't look as certain as his wife, he nodded. Trent figured the older couple had been married for close to forty years, and he wondered how they'd managed that. Respect, he decided. And trust. If love was a sham, a shallow, fickle feeling that described that sizzle of one woman's skin against one man's, then a long-term marriage must last due to respect and trust.

Or not. Because, hell, he'd respected Rebecca. As for trust…

You didn't trust her enough to tell her your feelings,
a little voice whispered.
Not any of them.

At that moment, Katie ushered the police detectives into the living room. After being introduced to Detective Levine, a middle-aged man, and a younger woman, Detective Ellen Slater, both from the Portland P.D., Trent retreated to an out-of-the-way corner.

“Mr. and Mrs. Logan, we have some news about your son Robbie.”

Robbie!
Trent found himself leaning forward in his distant seat.

“News about Robbie?” Leslie Logan repeated. “But I thought—”

“Twenty-eight years ago, did you know any persons by the name of Joleen and Lester Baker?”

The older Logans looked at each other, then shook their heads.

The detective twisted in his chair to pin Trent with his gaze. “What about you, Mr. Crosby? Do those names ring any bells?”

Thinking back, Trent repeated the names in his mind. “No. I was only nine, you understand, but I don't recognize them.”

“What exactly are you saying?” Terrence asked calmly. He had reached over to clasp his wife's hand, but he looked at perfect peace. “Are those the people who stole our son?”

“Yes.” The detective nodded. “What we've been able to piece together is that Lester Baker lured Robbie into his truck. Because of your wealth, the investigators at the time hoped to hear from the kidnapper about a ransom, but the truth is that Lester quickly drove out of
town and to his wife, Joleen. They'd lost a child years before and Lester brought Robbie to her as a replacement for their son.”

“Are they…a nice couple?” Leslie whispered.

Detective Levine grimaced. “From the information we've been able to gather, they're both gone now, but no, Mrs. Logan, I can't say they were a nice couple. They drank, they were known for running when the law or a landlord got too close. They hopscotched around Ohio, Michigan and Indiana. Ten years after the abduction, Lester left his wife and the boy and was later killed in a accident. Joleen lived until 2001, when she died of liver cancer.”