Dylan and the Baby Doctor. Sherryl Woods
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four years now and he still ached for his boy. He wondered how tall he was, if he still had the same cowlick in his hair, if he was athletic, if he remembered his real daddy at all. That’s when the regrets would start to add up and he’d turn up in Los Pin˜os, his mood bleak, his soul weary.
Trish intuitively understood what brought him there and over time, Dylan had revealed some of it to Hardy. He withstood their pitying looks, accepted their love and their concern. But with little Laura, there was only the sunshine of her brilliant smile and the joy of her laughter. He could be a hero, instead of the dad who’d walked away.
“Unca Dyl,” she squealed when she saw him climb out of his rugged sports utility vehicle on a dreary Friday night. Arms outstretched, she pumped her little legs so fast, she almost tripped over her own feet trying to get to him.
Dylan scooped her up and into the air above his head until she chortled with glee. He brought her down to peer into her laughing blue eyes that were so like her mama’s. He’d been nine when Trish was born and he could still remember the way she, too, had looked up at him as if he were ten feet tall.
“Munchkin, I think you’re destined to be a pilot or an astronaut,” he declared. “You have absolutely no fear of heights.”
Laura giggled and gestured until he lifted her high again, then swung her low in a stomach-sinking dip.
“Still making career choices for her, I see,” Trish said, stepping off the porch to join them. “For a man who refused to let anyone tell him what he should grow up to be, you seem intent on controlling your niece’s destiny.”
“Not controlling it,” Dylan insisted. “Just listing a few of her options.” He dropped a kiss on his sister’s cheek. “Thanks for letting me come.”
Instantly, sympathy filled her eyes. “I know it’s a tough weekend. Shane will be six tomorrow, right?”
Dylan nodded. “I don’t want to talk about it, though.”
Trish sighed. “You never do. Dylan, don’t you think—”
“I’m not going to get in touch with him,” he said fiercely. “I made a deal with Kit and Steve. I intend to stick to it. If the time ever comes when Shane wants to know me, she’ll help him find me. Until then, I have to forget about him.”
“I don’t know how you can live with that,” she whispered, touching his cheek. “I know you think it was the right thing to do, but—”
“It was the only thing to do. Now can we drop it, please? I could have stayed home and listened to Mother, if I’d wanted to go over this again. Goodness knows, she never lets me forget how I’d deprived her of getting to know her first grandchild.”
Trish looked as if she might argue, then sighed. “Done. I hope you’re hungry, though. Hardy’s out back making hamburgers on the grill. It’s his night to cook and if it can’t be done on a grill, we don’t eat.”
Over the weekend, Dylan fell into the easy rhythms of his sister’s family, grateful to be able to push the memories away for a few days at least. When Sunday rolled around, he still wasn’t ready to go back to Houston and face real life. None of the cases on his desk were challenging. Just routine skip-traces, a straying husband, an amateur attempt at insurance fraud. He could wrap any one of them up in less than a day, which was one of the reasons he’d been so desperate to get away. Tackling them wouldn’t have crowded out his misery.
“Stay one more night,” Trish begged.
He figured she’d sensed his reluctance to go. His baby sister had always been able to read him like a book, better than any of the younger brothers who’d come between them. Fiercely loyal and kindhearted, the male Delacourts taunted each other and banded together against the outside world. But as tight-knit as they were, none of his brothers dared to bulldoze through his defenses the way Trish did.
“Yeah,” Hardy agreed, picking up on some unspoken signal from his wife. “Stick around. You can get the tile up in the second bathroom. Trish says I don’t have the patience to do it right.”
“And I do?” Dylan said, amused by their ploy to make him feel that his continued presence wasn’t an intrusion. Crediting him with more patience than anyone was a real stretch.
“Trust me,” Trish said. “You’re bound to have more than my husband. He keeps getting distracted.”
Hardy grinned. “Because I happen to have a very sexy new wife.”
Sometimes witnessing their happiness was more painful than going back to his lonely existence in Houston, but tonight there was no contest. Anything was better than going home.
Dylan held up his hands. “Okay, okay, no details, please. You two may be married, but she’s still my baby sister. I’ll stay.”
“Good,” Trish said, beaming, clearly pleased with herself.
That night, just as they were finishing supper, the phone rang. Because he was closest, Dylan grabbed it.
“Oh, Dylan, is that you?” a vaguely familiar voice demanded.
Dylan tensed, alerted by the tone to trouble. “Yes. Who is this?”
“It’s Lizzy. Lizzy Adams. I’m the doctor who treated Trish after Laura was born. We met at Trish’s wedding.”
He recalled a slender, dark-haired woman who’d radiated confidence. She didn’t sound so sure of herself now. “Of course. You want to talk to Trish. She’s right here.”
“No, no. It’s you I need to speak to.”
“Oh?”
“You’re a private detective, right?”
“Yes.” He slid into professional mode, finally grasping that what he was hearing in her voice was a thread of panic she was trying hard to hide. “What’s going on?”
“My friend, the doctor who works with me at the clinic, Kelsey James…have you met her?”
Although he’d met dozens of people at the wedding and on subsequent visits, no image came to mind. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, it’s about her little boy, Bobby. Something’s happened.”
Dylan’s heart began to thud dully. Something told him he didn’t want to know the rest, but he forced himself to ask anyway. “What about him?”
“He’s disappeared. She thinks he’s been kidnapped. Can you come, Dylan? Can you come right away?”
“Just tell me where,” he said grimly, beckoning for paper and pencil. As soon as he had them, he jotted down the directions. “Have you talked to the police?”
“Justin’s here now,” she said, referring to her nephew who also happened to be the local sheriff. “He needs help, though. Kelsey wants this kept quiet. She won’t let him call in the FBI or anyone else from outside.”
The knee-jerk reaction of a panicked parent—or something more? “Why?” he asked.
“Let her explain. Just come. Please.”
“I’m on my way.”
“What?” Trish demanded, already standing as he reached for his jacket. “Why did Lizzy call you? What’s happened?”
“It’s about somebody named Kelsey. Her little boy’s disappeared.”
“Oh, no,” Trish whispered, suddenly glancing at Laura as if to reassure herself that her daughter was right where she belonged. She regarded him worriedly. “Dylan, I don’t know about this. Are you sure this is something you should get involved in? I know you’re the best and I adore Kelsey and Bobby, but won’t this be too hard?”
“I can’t just turn my back,” he said, wondering what the look Trish exchanged with Hardy was all about. “You obviously know this Kelsey person. Is there something