Peekaboo Baby

There was a possibility that this child was his…

Ryan’s first step was to convince Delaney to do the DNA test. The doors of his heart seemed to be opening, and Ryan had no idea how or why they were doing that. Or if he could even close them again. He took a few steps closer toward Delaney and stopped. It was best to keep some physical distance between them since he wasn’t doing great in the emotional distance department.

“I got some news. The New Hope Clinic was located in the hospital where my son died.” Thankfully he’d managed to lay that out without too much emotion in his voice.

Still holding her son, Delaney made a sound of contemplation. “It doesn’t prove anything.”

Ryan turned his head in the baby’s direction and just like that, their gazes connected. His hair was blond. He kicked his chubby legs and grinned.

Ryan’s breath froze in his lungs. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Because he knew…

Peekaboo Baby

Delores Fossen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Imagine a family tree that includes Texas cowboys, Choctaw and Cherokee Indians, a Louisiana pirate and a Scottish rebel who battled side by side with William Wallace. With ancestors like that, it’s easy to understand why Texas author and former U.S. Air Force captain Delores Fossen feels as if she was genetically predisposed to writing romances. Along the way to fulfilling her DNA destiny, Delores married an Air Force Top Gun who just happens to be of Viking descent. With all those romantic bases covered, she doesn’t have to look too far for inspiration.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Delaney Nash—Could the donor embryo she used to give birth to her son, Patrick, be the cloned son of her enemy, Ryan McCall? Now, to keep her son safe, Delaney has to turn to this man she fears could ultimately claim her child, and her heart.

Ryan McCall—Desperate for a second chance to raise his son, Ryan is willing to do whatever it takes to keep Delaney and their baby safe. But risking his heart is something he never expected.

Patrick Nash—The child Delaney always desperately wanted and the son Ryan thought he’d lost. But will Ryan lose Patrick again, this time to a killer?

Dr. Emmett Montgomery—Director of the New Hope fertility clinic and the man who possibly wants to cover up what happened with Delaney’s donor embryo.

Richard Nash—Delaney’s father. Is he so obsessed with getting revenge against Ryan and Delaney that he’s willing to commit murder?

Dr. Bryson Keyes—Delaney’s doctor. He possibly performed illegal cloning experiments that resulted in Patrick’s birth. Now he might want to eliminate any evidence of those experiments, including Ryan, Delaney and Patrick.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter One

San Antonio, Texas

Looking through her rain-spattered windshield, Delaney Nash spotted Dr. Bryson Keyes in the doorway of the private entrance of the New Hope clinic.

Finally.

Soon she’d get answers about what had possibly happened to her son. If Dr. Keyes or one of his associates had done something to harm him…

But she couldn’t even finish that thought.

Her baby had to be all right.

He just had to be.

Delaney blinked back the tears she’d been fighting and watched as Dr. Keyes popped open his oversize charcoal-gray umbrella. Ducking his head against the gusty April wind, he stepped out into the rain and walked toward his car in his personalized space of the parking lot. No doubt his daily routine. Except there was nothing routine about today.

The doctor hadn’t changed much in the thirteen months since she’d last seen him. The same lanky build. The same receding orangy-red hair. Of course, now there was something disturbing about him. But before the questions, before the allegations, Dr. Bryson Keyes had simply been the fertility specialist who’d given her a son, Patrick.

A miracle.

Now, she had to wonder if that miracle was about to become a nightmare.

Delaney got out of her own car, hurrying, and under the meager cover of her own umbrella, she followed Dr. Keyes across the parking lot. The wind and drizzle picked up speed and spit at her, splattering her caramel-colored skirt and probably ruining it in the process. It didn’t matter. Besides, it was a small price to pay to rid her of the questions and doubts that had been tormenting her for the past forty-eight hours.

The thought of the possible answers to those questions knotted her stomach. Again. It caused her heart to slam hard against her chest, and it robbed her of her already too-thin breath. Delaney choked back the worst-case scenarios that kept racing through her head and instead used her determined stride to eat up the distance between Dr. Keyes and her.

Her footsteps, or maybe something else, alerted him, because his head whipped up, and he spun around to face her. His entire body seemed to go stiff, and his watery blue eyes widened with what appeared to be a combination of recognition and concern.

“Ms. Nash,” he said, his words muted because of the relentless slapping of rain on their umbrellas.

“Dr. Keyes.” It took Delaney several moments to tamp down the emotion just so she could speak. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for the past two days.”

He slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and extracted his keys. He checked his watch and gave an impatient glance around the parking lot. “I’ve been busy, and unfortunately I don’t have time to see you now. You can call my office and make an appointment.”

And with that cool, attempted dismissal, the doctor turned to leave. But that wasn’t going to happen. Not until she’d gotten what she came for. Delaney latched on to his arm and held on as if he were her last hope.

Which unfortunately wasn’t too far from the truth.

“I’ve already tried to make an appointment. Several times. Your office claimed you were booked solid,” Delaney accused. “And I don’t think it’s my imagination that you’re trying to avoid me. Guess what? It won’t work.”

He didn’t deny the part about avoiding her. Nor did he offer any polite excuse for why he hadn’t responded to the dozen or so frantic messages she’d left with his secretary and answering service. What he did do was look again uneasily around the parking lot.

“This isn’t a good place to talk,” he informed her.

It was a dismissal, one that riled Delaney to the core, and he no doubt would have left it at that if she hadn’t dug her fingers into his arm and held on. “This might not be a good place to talk, but it’ll have to do. Neither of us is leaving until you explain why a representative from a medical watchdog group—Physicians Against Unethical Practices—called me.”

Oh, that stopped him cold.

Dead cold.

Dr. Keyes met her gaze head-on. Gone were the dismissals and the annoyance at her interruption, and Delaney thought she saw some fear.

An emotion she totally understood.

Because she was afraid.

Terrified, really.

For her son.

And for what might have already happened to him.

“This group contacted you?” Dr. Keyes asked.

Delaney nodded and tried to keep her voice level. Hard to do with the storm of emotions swirling inside her. “They implied that the New Hope clinic would soon be under federal investigation for some kind of illegal medical practices. Is that true?”

And Delaney held what was left of her breath. Waiting. Praying. Hoping that Dr. Keyes would deny it or else explain it all away.

That didn’t happen.

“What did you tell them?” the doctor demanded, and there was no doubt that his question was a demand. His wiry jaw turned to iron.

“Nothing. Because I don’t know anything to tell.” She paused a heartbeat. “But it’s my guess that you do.”

He shrugged, not exactly the declaration of innocence.

Delaney stepped closer, and she was sure her jaw muscles were steely, as well. She also made sure some of that steel crept into her eyes. “Let’s take a little trip down memory lane here. Fifteen months ago I came to New Hope when I found out I was infertile. I desperately wanted a baby, and you arranged for a donor embryo. It worked on the first try. I got pregnant, and I delivered my son four months ago.”

Because she had no choice, Delaney paused to gather her breath and her courage. Because what she had to say would take every ounce of courage that she could marshal. “Now, I’ve learned that the clinic might have done something illegal to the embryo that became my son. Maybe some cellular experiments. DNA manipulation—whatever. Something that could perhaps make him sick…or worse.”

No amount of strength could have stopped the tears that sprang to her eyes. Hot tears that burned against the cool rain speckling her lashes. Delaney fought the tears, and lost. The fear and dread were overwhelming.

Dr. Keyes or someone else at the clinic might have used her son as a guinea pig, and those experiments might have irreversible long-term effects.

“I have to think about this,” Dr. Keyes said. He gestured toward his car. “I’ll be in touch.”

Delaney caught the front of his jacket and wadded up the fabric so she had a firm grip. “You’ll tell me what you know now,” she said through clenched teeth. “Did you do something to my son?”

He mumbled something under his breath. Cursed. And looked as if he would prefer to be in the deepest pit of hell rather than talking to her.

Seconds crawled by, with the rain pelting them, and Delaney wasn’t sure the doctor would even answer her. She had no idea what she would do if he didn’t. Still, she was desperate, and she’d use that desperation to get him to talk.

“Any idea if the watchdog group contacted Ryan McCall as well?” Dr. Keyes asked.

The question caused her stomach to land in the vicinity of her knees.

Of all the things she’d anticipated the doctor might say, that wasn’t one of them.

“Ryan McCall?” Delaney managed to repeat. Not easily though. The man’s name always seemed to stick like wet clay in her throat. “Why would they contact him about illegal medical practices at the New Hope clinic? He has nothing to do with any of this.”

Judging from the panicky stare that Dr. Keyes gave her, and from his suddenly wobbling Adam’s apple, he thought differently.

Well, he was wrong.

He had to be.

Her old nemesis, Ryan McCall, had no connection to her son. None. McCall was a different part of her past. A past she dearly wanted to forget. Of course, forgetting wasn’t entirely possible. Every time she heard her father’s accusing voice and saw his scarred wrists, she got a harsh reminder that Ryan McCall, one of the most affluent and ruthless businessmen in the state, had tried to destroy her family.

And in many ways, he’d succeeded.

Heck, he was still succeeding.

“Look,” Dr. Keyes grumbled. “Let’s get in my car. It’s probably not a good idea for us to stand out here discussing this. The watchdog group employs P.I.s. They could have followed you.”

Delaney stayed put. “Answers,” she demanded. “Now. And quit stalling.”

His suddenly intense, almost angry stare drilled into her. “You’re really going to wish you’d sat down for this,” Keyes warned, his voice now a dangerous growl.

Delaney wasn’t immune to the warning and that stare. Even though she hadn’t thought it possible, it sent her adrenaline soaring even higher than it already was. Still, she didn’t back down. She couldn’t. No matter how painful this was, she had to learn the truth.

“Start talking,” Delaney countered, trying to show strength that she in no way felt. Her legs were shaking so hard she was afraid she might lose her balance. “Because if you don’t, I’m going straight to the police. I’ll demand a full investigation, and I’ll tell them to start that investigation with you.”

He stared at her. “And if I tell you what you think you want to know?”

“Then, it ends here.”

She hoped.

Mercy, it had to end here.

Dr. Keyes gave a curt, brace-yourself nod. “I believe an embryologist who used to work at the clinic might have done some experimental research on asexually replicated cells.”

Delaney mentally repeated that. She understood the individual words, but the term, asexually replicated cells, meant nothing to her. “Try that again in English.”

He opened his mouth and closed it, as if rethinking what he was about to say. Then he shook his head. “The embryologist, William Spears, died about three weeks ago. His records are apparently missing now, and I only got a glimpse of them beforehand, so I’m not exactly sure what he did. I’m not even sure if the embryo you were given was part of his research. In fact, I’m not sure of anything. I only learned what he’d done after he was dead—and that means I’m innocent of any charges this watchdog group might bring against the clinic.”

Using the grip she still had on his jacket, Delaney hauled him closer. “Frankly, I don’t care what part you had in this. All I care about is my son. I need to make sure he’s all right, that someone didn’t manipulate or mutate the embryo so that it could end up harming him.”

That improved his posture. “Is there something wrong with your son?”

“Not that I know of. That’s why I’m here. I want to make sure there’s nothing lurking in his DNA that could turn out to be a deadly time bomb.”

“No time bomb.” More hesitation. Another check around the parking lot. “I don’t believe your son’s DNA was altered.”

The breath of relief instantly formed in her lungs and then stalled there, because that wasn’t a relief-generating look on the doctor’s face. “Then what did you do to him?”

“Me personally? Nothing.” He groaned and kicked at the puddle of rain that was deepening around their feet. “Asexually replicated cells aren’t mutated or altered. They’re just that—asexually reproduced.”

Delaney wished she’d paid more attention in her Biology 101 class at Texas A&M. She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

Dr. Keyes lowered his voice to a whisper. “Your son’s embryo was cloned.”

She pulled in her breath. “Cloned?” The grip she had on the doctor’s jacket melted away, and Delaney’s hand dropped to her side.

“Yes. I only got a quick look at Dr. Spears’s records, but he claims to have taken the DNA from a six-week-old male infant who died two years ago right here in San Antonio in an automobile accident that killed both the baby and his mother.”

A sickening feeling of dread came over her.

Two years ago.

A car accident.

A child and mother left dead.

Delaney was positive there’d been plenty of other accidents, other deaths during that time frame. But only one incident came to mind.

“It’s possible that you might have received the cloned embryo from that infant,” Dr. Keyes said.

Delaney felt herself stagger, and because she had no choice, she leaned against a nearby car.

An experimentally cloned embryo.

The genetic copy of a child who had already been born.

And died.

Delaney tried to respond, tried to question that. She tried to accuse Dr. Keyes of lying. Yes, that was it. He had to be lying. But she couldn’t make herself say anything. Her throat clamped shut, and the tightness in her chest squeezed like a fist.

“If the information in that record is correct,” the doctor continued. He waited until Delaney’s eyes came back to his. “Then, the child you gave birth to is Ryan McCall’s son.”

Chapter Two

Ryan McCall cursed the storm. It was a brutal reminder of the gaping wound that just wouldn’t heal.

The rain had been relentless, going on for hours. And each new assault against the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of his office drew him out of the concentration that he was fighting hard to maintain.

Concentration he desperately needed tonight.

Ryan tried—again—to lose himself in the quarterly business projections for his company, McCall Industries. A vital report. One he needed to absorb and study so he could give input to his department heads. It worked. Well, it worked for a minute or two anyway. And then there was another wave of rain. Another burst of wind.

Another stir of painful memories he didn’t want.

It had rained the afternoon of the accident two years ago. Violent weather, violent consequences. The connection wasn’t logical, but it was there nonetheless. Ryan considered it a battle to fight, and win.

Eventually.

That’s why he didn’t close the curtains. One way or another, he would conquer this particular demon just as he’d conquered all the others in his life.

The buzzing sound of the intercom echoed through the room only seconds before he heard the familiar voice of his household manager, Lena Sanchez. “Sorry to interrupt you, boss, but you have a visitor at the front gate.”

Ryan automatically checked the antique Seth Thomas clock on the polished-stone-and-mahogany mantel. It was just after seven-thirty. Not late, but since his estate wasn’t exactly on the beaten path, it was hardly the hour for an unexpected guest. And an unwanted one. Ryan didn’t have to know the person’s identity to determine that. Anyone was unwanted at this point. He was not in a receiving-visitors kind of mood.

“It’s Delaney Nash,” Lena added, sounding concerned. “And she said it’s important.”

That captured Ryan’s attention.

Tossing the report aside, he reached over, accessed the security feed on his computer and zoomed in on the wrought-iron gate that fronted his estate. Even through the thick gray rain and the dusky light, he had no trouble spotting the blue car. Or the woman sitting behind the wheel. Her window was halfway down, and she was staring blankly at the intercom and security camera, apparently waiting for Lena to open the gate so she could visit.

Even though Ryan knew her name as well as his own, he’d yet to meet Delaney Nash, the woman he’d spoken to and corresponded with too many times to count. That didn’t mean he wanted their first meeting to happen tonight. Still, there was something about her ashen face and shell-shocked stare that had him reconsidering if he would let her in.

She looked upset. And her shoulder-length coffee-colored hair was plastered against her head and cheeks. She’d obviously had a run-in with the rain, and she didn’t look any more pleased about her encounter with the precipitation than he was.

“What does she want?” Ryan asked Lena.

“She said it was personal. That she urgently needed to speak to you.”

Of course it was personal. It couldn’t be anything but. Old scores to settle and all of that. And the urgent part? Well, that was expected, too. Things always seemed urgent when it came to the Nash family.

This little visit was no doubt about her father. Maybe he’d attempted suicide again. Or maybe Richard Nash had filed yet another frivolous lawsuit to right the wrong that he felt had been done to him. Either way, it couldn’t be good.

“She’s probably here to try to kill me,” Ryan mumbled under his breath.

And it wasn’t a joke.

A thought like that should normally have elicited fear or at least a sense of dread, but it’d been a while since he’d felt fear. That could happen when a man had lost everything: the woman he loved and their child.

There was literally nothing left for him to fear.

Or lose.

What he’d dreaded most had already happened.

“Open the gate,” Ryan instructed Lena. “Show her in.”

At least Delaney Nash would be a distraction from the storm. Sad but true. He preferred to face an irate, possibly homicidal, adversary than deal with the blasted conditioned responses caused by the weather.

“Lena, do a quick background check on Ms. Nash,” Ryan added, because, while he didn’t mind the distraction, he preferred to be informed. Especially if Ms. Nash had come with murder on her mind. “I haven’t kept tabs on her or her father in a while.”

“Sure, boss.”

Ryan watched as the gates slid open. Delaney Nash wasted no time. Once she had adequate space, she gunned the engine and started the half-mile uphill drive that would bring her to his doorstep.

He winced when she took one of the curves way too fast. Her tires skidded through slick asphalt, and for a second, one horrible gut-tightening second, Ryan thought she might lose control of her vehicle and crash into the massive oaks that lined the road.

She didn’t.

No frantic flash of brake lights. She simply slowed down until she finally came to a stop in the covered entryway of the main house.

“Delaney Elizabeth Nash,” Lena said through the intercom. One of the servants opened the front door and escorted his visitor inside. “She’s twenty-nine, lives in San Antonio. No police record. She owns a day-care center—small but apparently thriving.”

Nothing new. Ryan was already aware of those details. “Anything recent on her or her father?”

Ryan gave the security feed another adjustment so he could follow Ms. Nash’s little journey through the foyer and onto the wide spiraling stairs that would take her eventually to his office. Unlike other visitors, not once did she stop or even glance at her surroundings. She kept her attention pinned straight ahead. Zombielike.

Or so he thought.

Until Ryan zoomed in on her face. Definitely not zombie material. She was determined. Which meant his theory about her being there to kill him might not be so far off the mark.

He glanced at the purse she was practically hugging to her chest. Did she have a gun in there? More importantly, had she come prepared to use it? Maybe something had set her off and brought their old feud back to the surface.

“She had a baby four months ago,” Lena continued. “A son named Patrick Thomas Nash.”

Interesting. Not just because he’d never thought of her as the motherly type but because the child had the same surname as hers. “So she’s not married?”

“No.”

“Save any further details for later,” Ryan said to Lena when the servant knocked at his office door.

It was showtime.

“Should I monitor this visit?” Lena asked.

Monitor. As in keep a close watch through the security cameras in case Ms. Nash went ballistic. “No. I expect this won’t take long.” And in a louder voice, he instructed Ms. Nash to enter.

The door opened. Slowly. And even though there was no eerie creaking sound from the hinges, the room suddenly seemed to take on the ambiance of a horror movie in which the rain and wind battered the glass and a woman, who no doubt hated him enough to kill him, was slowly revealed.

While she stood in the doorway, with the richly stained mahogany framing her, her gaze slid around the room until it landed on him. Only then did she take a step inside. Not a cautious and calculating step, either. She entered with the same determination that she’d had on her trek up the stairs.

He’d been right about the rain doing a real number on her. Her jacket and slim above-the-knee skirt were blotched. There wasn’t a dry spot on her hair, and not much left of her makeup. Nothing except a trace of peach-colored lipstick.

And she looked as if she’d been crying.

That sent a weird curl of emotion through him. It was such a foreign feeling, one he hadn’t had in a long time, that it took Ryan a moment to identify it. But those tear-reddened, jade-green eyes brought out more than a few protective instincts in his body.

Whoa.

That was a truly stupid reaction.

Because Delaney Nash certainly wasn’t feeling protective toward him.

“Did your father send you?” Ryan asked in an effort to change his train of thought.

She blinked, as if shocked by his question. And her shock surprised Ryan, because he’d been almost certain this visit was about Richard Nash.

“This has nothing to do with my father.”

She walked closer, her thin, delicate heels clicking like heartbeats on the hardwood floor, and stopped in front of his desk. She took a deep breath and released it slowly. So slowly that it caused her bottom lip to tremble. “I have a favor to ask.”

Yet another surprise, and one that had probably cost her an ample amount of Nash pride. She would no doubt rather eat razor blades than come to him for a favor. Or for anything.

“What do you want?” Ryan tried to sound nonchalant but figured he failed. He was anything but nonchalant. This rain-soaked woman, his enemy, had piqued his curiosity.

Among other things.

That trembling bottom lip and her teary eyes were touching places in his heart that he never wanted touched again. Realizing what was happening, Ryan did a detach. He took a mental step back, put on his best corporate sneer and gave her a callous go-ahead prompt with his hand.

She nodded, nodded again and swallowed hard. “I need to see a picture of your son.”

Well, that shot the hell out of his corporate sneer and mental step back. He couldn’t stay detached after that. Ryan leaned forward. “Excuse me?”

“I went to the library and looked through all the old newspapers.” A raindrop slipped from the ends of her hair and spattered on his desk. She immediately reached down to wipe it away. “But there wasn’t a picture of him.”

Because Ryan had refused to give one to the papers. He hadn’t wanted anyone, especially strangers, to see his infant son. It was a grief, a hurt so deep, that Ryan hadn’t wanted to share it.

He still didn’t.

“Why?” he asked, aware that the one word encompassed a lot. Not the least of which, he figured it would generate an explanation. Not necessarily a good explanation. Because after all, this was the daughter of a mentally unstable man who’d repeatedly threatened to kill him.

“You won’t believe me if I tell you.”

“Try,” Ryan insisted.

Her fingers were white-knuckled in their grip on her purse. “Could I please just see his picture? I might be able to save us both a lot of time.”

Well, the woman certainly knew how to captivate him. And no, it didn’t have anything to do with her vulnerability.

All right, maybe it did.

A little.

But it was a problem that he’d soon remedy. Feelings and emotions carried high price tags, and he didn’t intend to go there again. Ever. And even if he decided to ease up on that rule a bit, he wouldn’t have been looking in Delaney Nash’s direction.

“Please,” she said, her voice and bottom lip trembling again.

Ryan stared at her while he debated it. And what a debate it was. Why did she want to see a picture of Adam? Why the vague save-us-some-time excuse?

And why the heck was he even considering her bizarre request?

He didn’t owe her a damn thing. She and her father had done everything humanly possible to drag his name through the mud. And all because he’d bested Richard Nash in a business deal.

So what.

He’d bested a lot of people, and they hadn’t made death threats or tried to sue him. The old analogy of “if you can’t stand the heat” came to mind. Richard Nash obviously couldn’t, but instead of getting his wimpy butt out of the kitchen, he’d spent the past year and a half trying to get revenge.

Ryan mentally rehashed the past, and while he was at it, he took a few moments to reflect on the woman standing in front of him. And somewhere amid all of that soul-searching, he felt his hand move in the direction of his top right desk drawer.

He didn’t look at the object he extracted. He couldn’t. It might be acceptable for her to show her vulnerable side, but Ryan didn’t intend to reciprocate.

His heart would break all over again if he looked at that picture of his son. And this time, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to survive it.

Keeping his attention fastened to her eyes, Ryan handed her the photo encased in the gold-gilded frame. She didn’t look at the image, either. She kept her attention on him, shifted her purse beneath her arm and took the picture, her fingers closing around it as if it were made of delicate crystal that might shatter in her hand.

She mumbled something. A prayer, maybe, then looked down at the photo.

Her eyes widened, her breath stopped, and she brought the picture closer. Studying it. Really studying it. Mere inches from her face.

“Oh, God. Oh. God. He’s so small,” she said, her voice a breathy whisper. Her bottom lip didn’t quiver. It began to shake.

She began to shake.

And she adjusted her purse again so that it was in front of her chest.

“Yes.” Ryan had to swallow hard before he could continue. Not just because of her extreme reaction, but because he didn’t need the image in front of him to visualize his son’s face. It was there. Always there. Burned into his memory and his heart. “Adam was born ten weeks premature.”

We almost lost him, Ryan nearly added.

It was an automatic addendum he’d used often in those first days after Adam’s birth and his stay in the neonatal unit. Those words had proved to be all too prophetic.

Because they had lost him.

“When the accident happened,” Ryan added. He cleared his throat, but it didn’t help. “My son had only been out of the hospital a few days.”