Claiming His Family Page 9

  “Me.”

  Her gaze darkened. “Are you accusing Andrew of something? Or are you here to see what kind of payoff you can get?”

  Just the suggestion that Andrew Smythe was Patrick’s father made Dex want to set the record straight. He caught Alyson’s pleading glance and shut his mouth. He’d struck out when it came to handling Patrice Smythe. The only option left was to let Alyson take a shot. He clenched his hands and said nothing.

  Alyson looked back at Patrice and splayed her hands, palms up, in front of her. “I just want my baby back. I want to know he’s okay.”

  “That’s a likely story.”

  “It’s true, Mrs. Smythe. Please.”

  “Well, if it’s money you want, you’ve come to the wrong person. You’d be better off going to his father. God knows he’s paid off enough of his own whores over the years. I suppose he’ll write you a nice check, too.” She looked back at Dex. “I don’t know what you’re up to, bringing her here, but I’m not going to stand for it. I want you both out of my house. Now.” She whirled around and strode away.

  Alyson’s shoulders slumped.

  Dex stood from his chair. He’d warned her not to get her hopes up, but she obviously had. “Patrice Smythe was a long shot. We did our best.”

  She shook her head. “I hoped that as a woman and mother, she’d understand. I never dreamed she’d think I was trying to extort money by claiming Patrick was Andrew Smythe’s son.”

  “You tried.”

  “I can imagine how it made you feel. I’m sorry.”

  He waved aside her concern. He couldn’t accept any more concern from her today. Each tender word from her mouth made him want to gather her in his arms, to claim her lips, to never let her go.

  “Please follow me.” The meek voice of the birdlike housekeeper penetrated his thoughts.

  Holding out a hand, he helped Alyson from her chair and they followed the woman across the plush carpet into the marble-floored foyer.

  The housekeeper reached the door and opened it, standing to the side to let them exit. As Alyson stepped past her, the woman whispered, “Mrs. Smythe wouldn’t know about any baby. Andrew doesn’t confide in his mother.”

  Adrenaline jolted through Dex’s bloodstream.

  Alyson grabbed the woman’s arm. “Who does he confide in? You?”

  She shook her birdlike head. “Not me. His sister.”

  Dex stepped up close behind. “His sister? He doesn’t have a sister.”

  “Half sister. The daughter of one of those whores Mrs. Smythe likes to talk about.” An edge of bitterness crept into the woman’s voice. She glanced down the hall as if to be sure her employer hadn’t crept back within hearing range. The long hall was empty and women’s voices drifted from one of the rooms.

  Dex’s mind raced. He scrutinized the woman’s face. “How do you know all this?”

  “Because my mother is that whore. Though my sister and I have different fathers.”

  Dex searched her face. “Who is your half sister?”

  The woman’s forehead furrowed. “Her name is Maggie Daugherty.”

  Chapter Nine

  Dex grabbed Alyson’s arm and led her from the Smythe mansion. The clouds had opened up while they were inside and rain pelted his face. The echo of the door slamming behind them clashed with the rumble of thunder.

  “Maggie Daugherty?” Alyson said in a tone of disbelief. “As in the same Maggie Daugherty who works in your office?”

  “One and the same.” Dex’s voice came out in a monotone that belied the turmoil inside him. He looked over his shoulder at the Smythe house. A silhouette darkened an upstairs window. Mrs. Smythe? The housekeeper? Or Andrew himself? “Let’s get out of here.”

  Alyson nodded and scampered for the car.

  Once inside his sedan and on the road, Dex let the shock of the housekeeper’s statement filter through his mind.

  “I just can’t believe it,” Alyson said, voicing his thoughts. “Maggie has been looking at me strangely lately, but I assumed it was because of what my father did. It never occurred to me that she might have something to do with Smythe.”

  Dex’s thoughts had been following the same lines. Should he have seen a resemblance? Should he have noticed if she seemed more interested in Andrew’s case than the others that coursed through the office? “If I remember correctly, Maggie was hired right after I started work on Smythe’s rape case.”

  “She took the job to influence the case.”

  “Or to feed Runyon any information she could get her hands on.”

  “It didn’t seem to help Smythe’s case. You convicted him anyway.”

  “Yeah. But maybe it helped her come up with a plan for getting him out.”

  “Do you think she’s the one who helped Smythe smuggle his blood out of prison?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “But she would have been on the prison sign-in sheet if she’d gone to see him. Of course she could have had help. Runyon?”

  “Or John Cohen.” He hated to admit that one of the A.D.A.s he’d worked with for years was the better suspect, but until a few minutes ago he’d no idea the office receptionist had a connection to Andrew Clarke Smythe. He couldn’t afford to hide his head in the sand any longer. “They work in the same office. They are in contact every day.”

  Alyson’s face fell. “If Maggie visited Runyon’s office, it might make people suspicious, but no one would think twice if she popped in to talk with Cohen.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So what do we do next?”

  “We have a chat with Maggie and find out if the Smythe’s housekeeper is telling the truth.”

  “And if the housekeeper is right…if Maggie is Andrew Smythe’s sister and the one person he confides in—” She stopped as if afraid to go on.

  Dex finished for her. “Then maybe she’s also the one person he would trust to take care of a kidnapped baby.”

  ALYSON FOLLOWED DEX up the combination of stairs and patios snaking around the outside of the condominium his office employment records had shown was Maggie Daugherty’s address. By the time they’d finished their meeting with Patrice Smythe, Maggie had long since left the office. It was just as well. This way they would get a chance to take a peek inside her home. Babies didn’t travel light. If Maggie was housing a baby in the conservative condo, there would be telltale signs. Bottles and baby food jars littering the kitchen counters. The scent of diapers. Or even a coo or a cry. If Patrick was here, they would know it.

  Pressure bore down on Alyson’s lungs like the damp rain, making it hard to breathe. Every nerve pressed her to race up those stairs, break open the door and gather her baby into her arms. Biting her lower lip, she forced herself to take the condo stairs at an even pace.

  When they reached the front door, Dex turned to look at her. “We need to play this cool. Just follow my lead.”

  Alyson nodded and took what she hoped would be a calming breath. Dex knew Maggie better than she did. She was glad he was there with her, taking the lead. Left to her own devices, she would probably just push her way inside and ransack the place until she found her son. She held her breath as Dex pressed the buzzer.

  Footsteps sounded from inside the house. A dead bolt slid back. The door inched open and one of Maggie’s brown eyes peered out through the crack. “Dex?”

  “I need a word with you, Maggie. It’s important.”

  The door swung open. When Maggie spotted Alyson in the shadows behind Dex, her eyes narrowed.

  Dex stepped forward. “May we come in?”

  Maggie looked from Alyson to Dex. “I’m in the middle of making dinner. Can’t this wait until tomorrow?”

  “I’m sorry, but it can’t. I have to talk to you tonight. You see, I think there’s a problem in the office.”

  Maggie’s eyes rounded, but instead of conveying surprise, she looked as if she was bracing herself for an accusation. “Problem? What kind of problem?”

  “Could we talk a
bout it inside? It’s rather wet out here and the news isn’t something I want to share with your neighbors.”

  “All right.” Maggie closed the door and unfastened the security chain. When she opened the door, her face was a perfectly composed mask. “Come in.”

  Dex and Alyson stepped inside, and Maggie shepherded them into a small formal living room off the foyer. “Please sit down.”

  Alyson perched on the edge of a chair, but Dex remained standing.

  So did Maggie. “Now what is this problem, Dex? And how can I help?”

  Alyson’s ears hummed. Maggie could help by giving Patrick back. She could help by helping them put her brother back in prison where he belonged. And where—if she had helped her brother—she belonged, as well. Alyson clenched her hands in her lap. She had to keep her cool if she was going to find Patrick. She combed the room casually with her gaze, but no baby paraphernalia caught her notice.

  Dex, too, looked around the room then focused on Maggie. “I think John Cohen is taking bribes.”

  “John Cohen?” Maggie echoed, but she didn’t seem surprised. “What makes you think that?”

  “It’s in relation to the Andrew Clarke Smythe case.”

  Other than a blink, Maggie showed no outward signs that the name meant anything special to her. “He’s the rapist the governor pardoned, right?”

  “Right. We think Cohen helped Smythe smuggle blood out of prison, then planted it under the fingernails of a staged rape victim.”

  Maggie’s gaze shifted to Alyson. “Is that why she’s here? Because she performed DNA tests on that blood?”

  “Yes. Alyson has been helping me with the scientific aspects of the case. We also believe Jennifer Scott, a forensic chemist at the State Crime Lab, may be involved.”

  Maggie nodded, seemingly buying his explanation. “So what do you want me to do? I don’t know anything about what Cohen does in his free time.” If Alyson wasn’t mistaken, the edge of defensiveness was creeping into Maggie’s voice. She glanced at Dex. If he caught it, he gave no sign.

  “I want you to help me set Cohen up. If he’s involved in helping Smythe, I want evidence.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because I don’t know how far the corruption reaches in the office. I don’t know if I can trust any of the other assistant district attorneys.”

  Alyson glanced out the door and into the foyer. She couldn’t sit in this living room another second. She had to find a way to look around the rest of the house. “Excuse me, Maggie. But could I use your rest room?”

  Maggie’s face drained of color. “I’d rather you didn’t. I’ve been having problems with the plumbing lately.”

  “Oh, I just need to blow my nose. I won’t tax the plumbing.”

  Maggie’s glance flew around the room as if she was searching for a way out. “I’ll go get you a box of tissues.”

  Alyson sprang to her feet. “Don’t bother. You’re busy with Dex. I can find the bathroom myself. I’ll only be a minute.” She strode for the living room door.

  Maggie stepped in front of her. “Really, it’s no bother. Why don’t you take a seat. I’ll be—”

  Dex stepped forward. Reaching out, he grasped Maggie’s arm. “I need you to approach Cohen with a false deal, Maggie. An undercover detective will pose as a defense lawyer looking to broker a deal for his incarcerated client.”

  Seeing her chance, Alyson ducked out the archway and half ran down the hall. She ducked into the kitchen and attached family room first. Grey countertops rimmed the perimeter of the small room, clean and neat. No signs of bottles or baby food. Crossing the floor, Alyson wrenched open the refrigerator door. Wine, cheese and plain yogurt stared back at her. No formula. No baby food. Her heart fell.

  Stepping around the long counter that served as a breakfast bar, she searched the family room with her gaze. A few magazines and a smattering of romance novels cluttered the coffee table. But no baby swing or pacifier or any sign Maggie had even thought of housing a baby caught Alyson’s eye.

  She darted back into the hallway. There were only three more rooms to search. The bathroom and two closed doors. Her heart hammered in her ears, all but drowning out the sound of Dex’s voice, outlining detail after detail of the false plot to get John Cohen to incriminate himself.

  She scurried down the hall to the first closed door. Opening it, she slipped inside. Rain and approaching night made the room dim. But Alyson could make out a queen-size bed with a floral spread and an assortment of women’s clothes draped over one end, as if someone had discarded them while searching for something to wear. Maggie’s bedroom, no doubt. After a quick perusal, Alyson ducked back into the hallway. A quick glance in the bathroom yielded nothing.

  Maggie’s protests rose from the living room.

  Alyson was running out of time. Sooner or later Dex would run out of false plans, and Maggie would come looking for her. She had to get a peek inside that last closed door before that happened.

  She scampered down the hallway, closed her hand over the cool brass knob and turned. The knob held. It was locked. Elation shuddered through Alyson, chased by panic. Maggie was hiding something, all right. And it was behind this locked door. Alyson had to figure out a way to get inside. She wouldn’t leave—she couldn’t leave—until she got a look inside that room. And a simple privacy lock wasn’t about to keep her out.

  Bending, she peered at the knob. Sure enough, in the center was a small hole. Just like the knobs in her own house.

  She crept back down the hall to the kitchen. She crossed to the desk and glanced through the unpaid bills and correspondence until she found a small container of paper clips. She’d locked herself out of the bedrooms in her house once before. And that’s when she’d discovered the true value of paper clips.

  Grabbing a clip from the box, she bent the curved wire straight and returned to the locked door. Hands shaking, she slipped the wire into the hole and poked for the mechanism. Silence came from the living room. Either Dex had run out of things to say, or he was wrestling Maggie to the ground to keep her from racing down the hall.

  Alyson’s heart beat in her ears like heavy rain on a tin roof. She poked and prodded with the wire. Finally it slipped into the mechanism. She gave the knob a turn and pushed inside the room.

  With draperies drawn, this room was even darker than Maggie’s bedroom. Alyson searched the darkness, willing her eyes to adjust. A bed hulked in one corner, along with a neat pile of large boxes. Or was that a crib? A crib holding her sweet baby? She held her breath and reached for the light switch.

  A hand closed around her wrist and another around her throat. “Hello, Alyson. Did you miss me?”

  Chapter Ten

  A strangled scream split the air.

  Alyson.

  Dex’s heart slammed against his rib cage. Releasing Maggie’s arm, he raced for the hall. There could be only one reason for that scream, and it had nothing to do with Alyson finding the baby.

  Smythe was here.

  Reaching under his jacket, he withdrew the .38 nestled in his shoulder holster. He hadn’t told Alyson he had a gun. He knew how she felt about them, and he didn’t want to worry her. But he was glad he had it now.

  A door on the far end of the hall stood ajar. Dex raced toward it. Gun poised, he kicked the door wide and swept the room with his gaze.

  Alyson lay on the floor amid some boxes, holding her hand to her head. A window gaped open behind her. She raised her green eyes to Dex. Bright red blood mingled with the auburn of her hair and stained her fingers. “He’s gone. Through the window.”

  Making another sweep of the room to be sure, Dex glanced out the open window. A manicured lawn stretched only a few feet below. An easy getaway. Somewhere in the distance, a car engine purred to life. Dex fell to his knees beside Alyson.

  “Find Smythe. He’s getting away.” She tried to push him to his feet, her hands leaving bloodstains on his jacket and shirt. “I’m okay. Really.”

  “You’re
not okay, and Smythe is long gone.”

  Alyson sagged against him. Blood trickled down her forearm in a tiny rivulet. Blood and strands of her hair clung to the sharp edge of a glass-and-steel coffee table nearby.

  Maggie’s shadow stretched into the room in the light streaming from the doorway. “What happened? What was she doing in here? This is just a storeroom. I thought she said she had to use the rest room.”

  “You know damn well what happened. Your brother slammed Alyson’s head into that table.”

  “My brother?”

  “We know Andrew Smythe is your half brother, Maggie.”

  The woman’s face blanched even whiter than before.

  Dex didn’t bother explaining. “Call 9-1-1. Tell them to send an ambulance and the police. And make it fast.”

  Alyson gripped his arm. “No police. No ambulance. I’m fine. Really.”

  “You’re hurt. You’re bleeding all over.”

  “It’s nothing. Cuts to the head always bleed a lot. We can’t call the police. He said—”

  “You need medical attention. Smythe be damned.”

  “You can drive me to the hospital.”

  Her green eyes seemed unnaturally dark, even in the dim light of the room. Probably a concussion. He had to get her to a hospital. And he had to get her there now. “Fine. Put your arms around my neck. Can you do that?”

  She did as he said.

  He lifted her to her feet. “Can you stand?”

  She did, leaning against him for balance. Wadding up a wash cloth he found in an open storage box, he pressed it to the cut on her scalp. “Hold this tight.” Looping his free arm around her, he helped her walk from the room, still holding his gun in the other hand. Maggie didn’t seem dangerous, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

  Maggie moved out of the way and let them pass. “She had no right snooping in my house. And she had no right scaring Andrew that way. He’s a free man, like any other free man. He has the right to visit my house without being harassed.”