Somebody's Baby
There was the briefest hesitation before Farrell said slowly, “You saw a woman in the park with a baby. What makes you think that baby was Dustin?”
“Because I also saw Karen Smith.”
“You what?”
At last she seemed to have gotten his attention. Nina let out a relieved breath. She’d gone about this all wrong. She should have told him about Karen Smith first, but her baby had been uppermost in her mind. No wonder Sergeant Farrell couldn’t make sense of her babbling.
“Let me start at the beginning,” she said.
“I think that might be a good idea.”
Nina quickly told him everything that had happened in the park, except the nanny’s accusation that Nina had refused to give the baby back to her. Nina’s actions had hardly been those of a rational woman, and she desperately needed Sergeant Farrell to believe her. More than anything, she needed him to believe her.
“I couldn’t keep up with the car,” she finished. “But I did manage to get the license-plate number.” She rattled off the number, then said, “You can trace the vehicle, right?”
Again Farrell hesitated. “Nina, are you sure about all this?”
“Of course I’m sure. I couldn’t be mistaken about something like this. My baby’s life is at stake.” Nina felt a wave of hysteria rising inside her, but with sheer force of will, pushed it back down.
“You said the woman in the BMW was blond. Karen Smith had dark hair. At least that’s what you’ve always maintained.”
“She could have dyed her hair or worn a wig. It makes sense she would have disguised herself. She was planning all along to steal my baby.”
“That part does make sense,” he conceded with a sigh. “But it’s still a little hard to swallow that you saw Karen Smith in the same park where you first met her. If she took Dustin, why would she go back there, knowing she might eventually run into you?”
“The nanny said they didn’t usually go to that park, but the baby’s mother—she called her Mrs. Baldwin—had an appointment near there. That makes sense, too, when you think about it. After all this time, Karen probably thought she was home free. It was a one-in-a-million chance that I saw her at all today.”
“You say her name is Baldwin?” Farrell seemed preoccupied, as if he were jotting notes to himself.
“Yes, and the man’s name is Chambers, but I don’t know what his relationship is to Dustin.” Was he a conspirator in her baby’s abduction? Nina shivered, remembering the man’s eyes, the menacing way he’d stared down at her. “You do believe me, don’t you? You are going to follow up on this, aren’t you?”
“I’ll check it out,” Farrell agreed noncommittally. “As soon as we find out who the car belongs to, we can decide where to go from there.”
“How long will that be?”
“I’ll run it through the computer as soon as we hang up. But look. You said it yourself. It’s a million-to-one shot that you and Karen Smith came face-to-face in that same park.”
“Meaning?”
He paused. “Don’t get your hopes up, okay?”
* * *
Nina was waiting at her desk when Sergeant Farrell called back a little later. She grabbed up the phone on the first ring.
“Did you find her?”
“I ran the plate number,” Farrell said. “The car is registered to a Mrs. Vanessa Baldwin. It’s a Houston address. River Oaks,” he added, naming Houston’s most prestigious—and expensive—neighborhood.
A flood of memories washed over Nina. Garrett’s family lived in a San Antonio neighborhood very much like River Oaks. The tree-shrouded streets and ivy-covered mansions had always seemed oppressive to Nina. She hated to think of her baby in such an atmosphere.
“What else did you find out?” she asked.
“Her husband, Clayton Baldwin, is vice president at Chambers Petroleum, which is owned by her father, a man named J. D. Chambers. Any of these names ring a bell?”
Nina frowned. “No. Should they?”
“From what I could gather, the Chambers family is pretty well connected in the petroleum industry, as well as in the River Oaks social circles. Thought you might have seen their names in the paper.”
Nina took a deep breath, trying to quiet her racing heart. Something about Sergeant Farrell’s tone worried her. “So what do we do next? When can we go confront Vanessa Baldwin? When can I get my baby back?”
“It’s not quite as simple as that. We’re not talking about any Tom, Dick or Harry here. These people have clout.”
“So what are you saying?” Nina demanded. “Because they’re rich and powerful, the law can’t touch them?”
“I’m not saying that at all. I’m saying we have to proceed with caution. I’m saying you could be mistaken.”
“I’m not.” Nina could feel her anger building. Why wasn’t he listening to her? Why wasn’t he trying to help her?
Why did the rich and powerful have all the advantages?
She gripped the telephone in her fist. “I know what I saw.”
“Or is it what you think you saw? What you wanted to see? I’m looking at a picture of Vanessa Baldwin right now, and I have to tell you, Nina, she doesn’t look a thing like the sketch the artist drew of Karen Smith from your description. The hair, the mouth. Even the shape of the face. Everything is different.”
“Because she was wearing a disguise!” Nina exploded. “You’re a detective, for God’s sake. You must have seen this thing before. Look at the eyes. They’re a dead giveaway.”
After a slight hesitation, Farrell said, “Even if there is some resemblance, we still have one major problem. Why would a woman of Vanessa Baldwin’s stature risk stealing a child? She’s from a high-profile family. It would be next to impossible to pass someone else’s baby off as hers.”
Nina gritted her teeth. “I don’t know how she pulled it off, but it’s your job to find out. She has my baby, and I want to know what you’re going to do about getting him back.”
His voice was quiet when he spoke, as if her outburst hadn’t registered. “Do you read the paper, Nina? The Houston Herald?”
She frowned at the change of subject. “Sometimes. Why?”
“Did you read it today?”
She’d glanced through it that morning while having her coffee. “I scanned it.”
“There was a picture of Vanessa Baldwin in the society section this morning. You don’t remember seeing it?”
“No, I don’t,” Nina said angrily. “And what’s more, I resent all these questions. Shouldn’t you be questioning her?”
“Isn’t it possible you saw Vanessa Baldwin’s picture without even being aware of it, and that’s why you recognized her in the park? You’d just been holding her baby. You said yourself you felt some sort of connection with him. Then you see this woman, the baby’s mother, who looks familiar to you, and you think she’s Karen Smith. You want her to be Karen Smith.”
Nina’s heart thudded against her rib cage. How could he not believe her? What was she going to do?
“It was bound to happen sooner or later,” he explained. “You go to that park every day hoping to find your baby, hoping to see Karen Smith, even though you’ve always known in your heart the odds were next to impossible.”
“But not entirely impossible,” Nina insisted. “Because I did see her.”
“I keep coming back to the same question,” Farrell said softly. “If Karen Smith and Vanessa Baldwin are one and the same, why would she go back to that park? Why would she risk being seen?”
“Dear God,” Nina whispered. “You’re not going to do anything about this, are you?”
“Nina—”
“You’re afraid of them.” A hysterical sob rose in Nina’s throat, but she swallowed it back down. “The police won’t touch them because of who they are. People like that can do anything they damn well please, and to hell with the rest of us. Is that it? Well, I’m not afraid of them. I’ll get my baby back with or without your help.”
“Nina, listen to me,” Farrell said urgently. “You’ve got to get a grip here, or you could find yourself in a lot of trouble.”
His words echoed inside her. The man in the park had said the same thing to her. “I could be in a lot of trouble? What have I done?”
Farrell’s voice hardened with warning. “Nothing yet, and I want to keep it that way.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Nina said. “I can take care of myself.”
“I wish I could believe that,” he muttered. “Look, I’ll do some checking, find out what I can about Vanessa Baldwin and her baby. But, Nina, this has got to be done on the q.t. I don’t want harassment charges coming down on either of our heads, you got that? You stay away from Vanessa Baldwin, and for God’s sake, whatever you do, stay away from that baby.”
Chapter Four
“Oh, Mr. Chambers, it’s you. You startled me.” The nanny stopped in the nursery doorway when she saw Grant standing over John David’s bed. She looked flustered by his presence, and not a little guilty.
She entered the room hesitantly, and Grant straightened from the crib, where he had been trying to quiet the baby. “He was crying when I came in, Mrs. Becker. No one was in here with him.”
“Oh, please call me Alice,” she said with a breathless little laugh. “I just stepped out for a minute. Has the party already started downstairs?” Her gaze checked out Grant’s tuxedo, then quickly shifted to the crib, where John David was excitedly waving his arms and legs and blowing spit bubbles at his uncle with gusto.
“Actually I came a little early to see you,” Grant told her.
Her hand flew to the neckline of her dress, where a dull red flush crept upward, giving her a feverish glow. “Oh! What about?”
“I wanted to talk to you about the incident in the park this afternoon.”
“Oh.” Her tone dropped and so did her hand. “That woman, you mean.”
“Yes, exactly.” Grant hadn’t been able to get “that woman” out of his head. Something about her had seemed eerily familiar to him, and yet he was sure she’d been telling the truth when she said they’d never met. And when she’d assured him she meant John David no harm.
So why couldn’t he forget her?
She was hardly the sort of woman who would capture a man’s imagination. Her waiflike appearance was not the studied look of a fashion model, but rather that of a woman who had fallen on hard times. Her face had been too narrow to be striking, her features too nondescript to be memorable, and yet there had been something very unsettling about her, a sadness and desperation in her eyes that haunted Grant much like those of the begging children he’d seen in Third World countries. He wanted to put her out of his mind, and yet he couldn’t. Because like those starving children, the woman in the park had possessed something very rare. A quiet dignity and purity of soul that no amount of money could ever buy.
Grant found himself wondering what had made those eyes seem far too old and experienced for her face.
The nanny shuddered delicately. “I don’t mind telling you, she just about scared me to death. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t shown up.”
Grant shrugged. “I don’t think she meant the baby any harm. At any rate, I doubt we’ll ever see her again, so the whole episode is best forgotten. And that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Did you mention any of this to my sister?”
The woman hesitated, calculating, Grant suspected, the answer he wanted to hear. There was something about Alice Becker that didn’t elicit his trust. He wondered just how thoroughly Vanessa and Clayton had checked out her references.
“I haven’t mentioned it to Mrs. Baldwin yet,” she finally admitted. “I was waiting for the right time.”
“Good,” Grant said. “Because I don’t want you to tell her at all.”
The woman’s narrow brows rose in surprise. “Why not?”
“You know about my sister’s condition.” It was a statement, not a question. His father had always insisted that anyone who came to work in the Chambers household be informed of Vanessa’s heart problem so that if an emergency ever arose, the staff would know instantly how to handle it. Grant doubted that policy had changed since his sister had moved into her own home. J. D. Chambers wouldn’t allow it. His daughter had to be protected, at all costs.
“There’s no use upsetting my sister needlessly,” he explained.
“But somehow I don’t feel right keeping this from her.” She slanted Grant a look, which wasn’t hard to interpret. If Vanessa were to ever find out about the woman in the park, Alice Becker didn’t want to be held accountable.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take full responsibility.” Bending over the crib once more, Grant let his nephew capture one finger in his tiny fist for a long moment, then straightened. “Good night, Mrs. Becker.”
The woman started to say something, perhaps to ask him again to call her Alice, but then she seemed to change her mind. She nodded and murmured, “Good night, Mr. Chambers,” as her gaze took his measure one last time before he turned and strode from the room.
* * *
Nina sat in the back of the taxi and stared out the window, but the passing scenery was nothing more than a blur. How could she focus on her surroundings when her thoughts were so chaotic?
Was she doing the right thing?
What if she got caught?
Catching a glimpse of her reflection in the window, she marveled at the changes in her appearance. She’d spent hours that afternoon at an exclusive uptown salon, being made over for tonight. The bill, along with the price of a new gown, had been staggering, but Nina knew the extravagance had been worthwhile.
Gone was the long, mousy blond hair, the pale complexion, the dull, pain-filled eyes. Her hair, cut short in a chic new style, shimmered with golden highlights, her complexion glowed with soft color and her green eyes sparkled with excitement. Nina hardly even recognized herself, and she told herself no one else would, either.
Resting her head against the back of the seat, she let her mind drift over the rest of the afternoon’s events, searching—she suspected—for affirmation that she was doing the right thing. That she had covered all her bases.
After speaking with Sergeant Farrell for the second time, she’d fished the morning newspaper out of the trash and turned to the society section. Vanessa Baldwin’s likeness had smiled up at her, and Nina’s heart had plunged in disappointment. Either the picture was deceptive or she’d been mistaken in the park. Vanessa Baldwin looked nothing like Karen Smith.
Could Sergeant Farrell be right? Had Nina glimpsed something in Vanessa Baldwin’s eyes only because she so desperately wanted to?
The accompanying article reported that Vanessa Baldwin was hosting a formal reception that night in her River Oaks home in honor of her brother, Grant Chambers, who had just returned from Venezuela. After reading the article, Nina had come up with a dangerous plan. For her own peace of mind, she had to get a closer look at Vanessa Baldwin. She had to be sure.
And if she was honest with herself, she had to admit she wanted to see the baby again, too, although she knew that would be the riskiest part of her plan.
Oh, but to hold that child in her arms again…to savor his sweetness…
Nina drew a long, shaky breath. Above all else, she had to remain rational. If Vanessa Baldwin wasn’t Karen Smith, then her baby wasn’t Dustin, and Nina would have no right to see him, let alone to hold him. She could not afford to lose sight of that fact.
The taxi pulled through the gates of the Baldwin estate and slowly wound its way around the semicircular driveway to stop in front of the Mediterranean-style mansion, blazing with lights. Nina glanced at the stucco facade and the wrought-iron balconies as she stepped out into the cool October air.
Another car had pulled up behind hers, and two couples got out. Nina fell into step behind them, forcing herself to strike up a casual conversation with one of the women as they mounted the stairs and walked through massive oak doors into the grand foyer.
* * *
Grant saw her immediately. He’d been talking with his father and several business associates about the Venezuelan project, but the moment she walked into the room, everyone else faded into the background.
She wasn’t beautiful in the traditional sense of the word, but there was something about her, an elegance and quiet sophistication that made him think she would be an interesting woman to know.
The simple black gown she wore left her arms and shoulders bare, and revealed a body beneath the silky fabric that was more slender than Grant would ordinarily have found attractive. But rather than making her seem frail, her petite stature was surprisingly sensual. Womanly.
Drifting away from the people she’d come in with, she accepted a glass of champagne from one of the hovering waiters, then slipped unobtrusively into a corner, her gaze raking the crowded room. Grant watched her over the rim of his own glass. Had they met before? He didn’t think so, and yet there was something intriguingly familiar about her. He excused himself and crossed the room toward her.
As he approached, Grant saw something flit across her features. Recognition? If he didn’t know better, he would have almost sworn it was fear.
“I know this is going to sound like the worst kind of come-on,” he said, “but have we met before?”
Her gaze flitted upward to his. She licked her lips nervously. “No. I’m sure we haven’t.”
“You look…not exactly familiar, but—” He paused, studying her features. “There’s something about you.”
“I…guess I just have one of those faces.”
That wasn’t it, but Grant didn’t think it wise to pursue the topic any further. She looked a little skittish, as if she might turn and bolt at any moment. And he sure as hell didn’t want that.
“I’m Grant Chambers.” He extended his hand, and she accepted it only briefly before pulling her fingers from his grasp. When she made no move to introduce herself, he said, “And you are…?”
A look of panic flashed across her features. He couldn’t imagine why she seemed so nervous in his presence. Was he that intimidating? He’d never thought so before.
“I’m—” She broke off, her gaze darting from his. He saw her take a deep breath, and then she said softly, “Actually I’m not supposed to be here.”
“You mean you crashed my sister’s party?” When she nodded, he laughed. That explained her nervousness. She probably thought he’d have her tossed out, but that was the furthest thing from Grant’s mind.
He stared down at her, his interest piqued. A pulse beat in her throat, and he thought impulsively how exciting it would be to press his lips against the spot, to feel her soft, warm skin throbbing beneath his mouth.
Leaning toward her, he said, “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Then…you don’t mind my being here?”
“Hardly.” Their gazes met once again before she quickly glanced away. Grant used the moment to study her as she turned to watch the crowd. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so intrigued by a woman. “So, tell me. Any reason for crashing this particular party?”
She lifted her shoulders, a slight movement that brought Grant’s gaze downward, to the creamy skin of her throat and the alluring shadow of cleavage at her neckline. He felt something tighten inside him.
“I came with my cousin.” She nodded vaguely toward the center of the room.
Grant followed her gaze and said, “You mean Cynthia? I didn’t know she had a cousin.”
The woman bit her lip. “We’re not that close. I don’t see her very often.”
“You don’t live in Houston then?”
“I’m from…San Antonio.”
“Really? I’m pretty familiar with the city. Where do you live?”
She hesitated again, as if debating whether she wanted him to know that much about her. Then she shrugged and named a neighborhood Grant knew very well. He lifted his brows in surprise. “Small world. I have a good friend who lives in Alamo Heights. We were roommates at UT. His name is Trent Fairchild. You don’t, by chance, know him, do you?”
Something flashed across her features, setting off a warning inside Grant. Too late, he saw the champagne glass slip from her fingers and shatter against the marble floor at their feet.
Clasping a hand to her heart, she stared at the broken flute in horror. “Oh, my God.”
Her face had grown so pale, Grant took her arm to steady her. “What’s wrong? Was it something I said?”
“No. No, it wasn’t that. I-it just…slipped from my fingers. I’m sorry,” she stammered, as if she couldn’t quite believe what had happened. “I’m usually not that clumsy.”
“No problem. It’s just a broken glass. Happens all the time.” He motioned to one of the waiters, who hurried over to clean up the mess. Grant used the opportunity to pull her even farther away from the crowd.
She still looked shaken, and he wondered why such a trivial accident had caused her such concern. “Believe me, that glass will never be missed.”
Her gaze swept the elegant room, and a brief shadow crossed over her features. “I’m sure it won’t. But I am sorry.”
“Accidents happen. So long as it wasn’t the company that made you so nervous.”
“Wh-what?”
Her green gaze seemed so guileless, Grant wondered if she could really be so innocent not to recognize his own clumsy attempts at flirtation. Was he that out of practice?
Or maybe she just wasn’t interested. Maybe it was time to move on. There were a lot of important people at the gathering, and Grant knew he should be working the crowd—as his brother-in-law was undoubtedly doing. As his father would expect both of them to do. But try as he might, Grant couldn’t muster up much enthusiasm for it at the moment.
He didn’t mind talking about the Venezuelan project, which had turned out to be a very profitable venture, but a conversation about his return to the States always led to the inevitable speculation about his exile. And Grant didn’t like thinking about the past. He didn’t like remembering how closely he’d come to losing everything, and all because of a woman.
So why wasn’t he being more cautious now? Why was he hell-bent on pursuing this woman when she so obviously didn’t want to be pursued?
“Perhaps I should leave,” she said, as if reading his mind.
Grant frowned. “Because of a broken glass?” When she shrugged helplessly, he said, “Look, if you feel that badly about it, there’s only one thing you can do.”
Her glance turned wary. “What?”
“Dance with me.”
“Oh, I couldn’t, I mean, I’m really not much of a dancer,” she said in a rush.
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” He took her hand and felt it tremble in his. For some reason, it made her seem vulnerable and sweet. Qualities he’d always vastly underrated, he decided.
“But—”
“No ‘but’s,” he insisted. “I have a feeling that at midnight you’re going to disappear, and I’ll never see you again. At least let me have one dance to remember you by.”
IN HER WILDEST DREAMS, Nina could not have imagined such a strange scenario. When she’d seen Grant Chambers walking across the room toward her, she’d been sure he’d recognized her from the park and was coming to throw her out. Or maybe even have her arrested.
But then she’d seen the admiration in his gray eyes, and realized in a rush of relief that he had no idea who she was. Her makeover had worked, and she’d tried her best not to say or do anything to give herself away. But then he mentioned Trent Fairchild, and her reaction was instinctive. She thought for a moment she might actually pass out.
How ironic that she had come here searching for the truth about her baby only to end up in the arms of a man who was a friend of her worst enemy. Trent Fairchild had sworn he would find a way to make Nina pay for Garrett’s death, and she couldn’t help wondering again if he was somehow connected to Dustin’s disappearance. Sergeant Farrell had cleared him months ago, but Nina had never been quite as certain.
“You’re trembling.” Grant’s deep voice vibrated against her ear. “Are you cold?”
