His Best Friend's Baby. Mallory Kane
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survive eight hours without her baby. But she was still alive, and still rational—barely.
William Matthew was only seven months old, and she’d never spent a night without him. Hardly even an hour. He was her anchor, her life since her husband’s death.
She didn’t notice that someone else had come in the front door until she heard her name called.
She turned and found herself face-to-face with Matt Parker, her husband’s best friend, her baby’s godfather, and the last man on earth she expected to see.
“Matt,” she croaked. Her voice was hoarse and sounded harsh to her ears.
The last time she’d seen him was a year ago, when he’d brought her husband’s body home. He looked just as stricken as he had that day.
Her first impulse was to run to him and hug him. But she didn’t. Her emotions were already in turmoil, and seeing Matt made things even more confusing.
She should be furious at him. After all, he hadn’t shown up for Bill’s funeral, nor for William Matthew’s christening, even though she’d honored Bill’s request to name him as William’s godfather.
She’d spent a good portion of the past year filled with anger. At Matt for taking Bill skydiving. At Bill for going off and dying. At herself for not putting her foot down and refusing to let him go.
Matt looked down and rubbed the back of his neck. After a few seconds, he raised his head enough to meet her gaze. “Aimee, I’m so sorry about your baby. I’ve talked with Special Agent Schiff. He’s agreed to let me help with the investigation—if you’ll agree.”
Aimee clutched at her abdomen, where the hollow nausea that had been her constant companion ever since Bill died was growing, threatening to cut off her breath.
“How did you get here?” She shook her head. “I mean, it just happened this morning—”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m here. Will you let me help?”
Aimee looked at Special Agent Schiff, who nodded at her reassuringly. “I can’t believe—I haven’t seen you since—”
Matt’s gaze faltered. “I know. I’m sorry, Aimee.”
Aimee started when Margo laid a hand on her shoulder—a heavy hand. “Aimee, dear, why don’t you get a glass of water?”
“Thank you, Margo, but I’m not thirsty.” She tried to step away from her mother-in-law’s grasp, but Margo held on.
“I’d like to speak to Matthew alone for a moment.”
Aimee rubbed her temple, where a headache was gathering. She knew what Margo planned to do. She was going to tell Matt to leave. She could practically see the wheels turning in her mother-in-law’s head. A lot of people in Casper knew that Matt had been with Bill when he died, and Margo didn’t like the Vicks being the subject of gossip.
Appearances. They’d always been her main concern. The magenta suit she wore attested to that. Only Aimee and the owner of Margo’s favorite dress shop knew that her first act upon hearing of her grandson’s kidnapping was to have the suit rushed over in time for the press conference.
“Anything you have to say, you can say in front of me, Margo.” Aimee stiffened her back and met her mother-in-law’s gaze.
“If you’re sure, dear.” Margo turned to Matt. “Aimee is terribly distraught. I’d rather she not be upset further. Perhaps you should leave.”
Matt raised his brows and gazed at Margo steadily. “I have every right to be here. William Matthew is my godson.”
A godson he’d never seen, Aimee thought. To make matters worse, Margo had spent the year since Bill’s death trying to coax Aimee to relinquish control of William’s future to her.
I have the resources and the connections, dear. You don’t.
Grief and fear and anger balled up inside Aimee, until she felt as if she were going to explode. She had to bite her tongue to keep from lashing out at both of them.
Aimee had loved Bill, but the six years of their marriage had been a tug-of-war between him and his mother. Now she was in the same position, standing between Margo and Matt.
“William is my child,” she blurted out. “This is my decision.”
Every eye in the room turned their way.
“Aimee,” Margo said warningly as her fingers tightened on Aimee’s shoulder. “Don’t make a scene.”
Aimee wasn’t sure how she felt about Matt showing up after a year—almost to the day—since Bill’s death, but she didn’t doubt his ability. As a weather expert and survival specialist, rescuing the innocent was his specialty.
If anyone could save her child, Matt could.
“If Special Agent Schiff agrees, I want Matt here. It makes sense for him to be involved. He’s trained in rescue and recov—” Aimee’s throat closed on the word recovery.
“Rescue,” she said as firmly as she could. No crying. She hadn’t cried yet, and she didn’t plan to start now. Crying never helped anything. She was afraid that if she started she wouldn’t be able to stop.
Margo’s dark eyes snapped with irritation as she drew in a sharp breath. Then, with a quick glance around the room, she consciously relaxed her face and nodded.
“Of course,” she said stiffly. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.” Her grip on Aimee’s shoulder loosened and turned into an awkward pat.
The shrill ring of a cell phone split the air. Aimee jumped.
It was him. The kidnapper.
She whirled, looking for her purse, and then remembered that the FBI had forwarded her cell to Margo’s house phone. At that instant, the landline rang.
Special Agent Schiff motioned her over to the table, where wires and headphones and computers appeared to be piled haphazardly.
“Mrs. Vick—” Schiff said in a cautionary tone. “Remember what we discussed?”
She was going to have to talk to the man who’d taken her baby. Her stomach turned upside down. As she approached, a computer technician handed two sets of headphones to Schiff. Schiff, in turn, reached past her to hand a set to Matt. Then he donned the remaining set himself.
“Wait to see what he says,” Schiff cautioned her. “Once he starts talking ransom, you insist it be delivered by a family friend—Parker. Don’t let him bully you. Don’t give in to any demands. You are in control, not him. Got it?”
Aimee had never felt less in control in her life. Her baby was in the hands of the monster on the other end of the phone, and she was being forced to bargain for his life. The phone rang again, the piercing noise sending terror slicing through her.
“On my count,” Schiff whispered. “Pick up on three.”
She nodded jerkily. Her throat was too dry to swallow. Her hands were shaking so much she wasn’t sure she could hold on to the phone.
Schiff nodded at the computer tech, glanced at Matt, then held up a finger. “One,” he mouthed to her.
A second finger went up. “Two.”
Aimee bit her lip and reached for the phone. Matt stepped closer.
Schiff held up three fingers. “Three.” He nodded.
She picked up the phone, her other hand pressed to her chest. “Hello?” she croaked.
“Hello, Aimee. Hello, Special Agent Schiff, and whoever else is listening.”
Aimee stiffened at the kidnapper’s menacing tone. At the same time, Matt’s shoulder brushed hers. Coiled tension radiated from his body like