Rafe Black couldn\'t still his fingers. A pile of tiny bits
of shredded paper from his straw wrapper betrayed his nerves
as he checked his watch one last time.
Abby was officially one hour late.
\"Another tea?\" The waitress, young, fresh-faced and
clearly
trying to earn a good tip, smiled in earnest until she saw
the mess on his table. \"You got something on your
mind?\" she
asked, gesturing to the paper pile.
He didn\'t want to be rude, but his thoughts were narrowed to
a point and there wasn\'t much room for chitchat. \"No more
tea,\" he said, sending the hint he wasn\'t up for
sharing but
then added to soften the brush-off, \"Thank you, though.\"
The waitress nodded and scooped up his pile with a small
smile. \"Just holler if you do.\"
He rubbed his forehead, massaging the tension pulling on his
brows and bunching the muscles in his neck. Where was Abby?
They\'d agreed to meet here, at this grubby diner about forty
miles outside of Cold Plains, Wyoming, following a hurried
and frantic phone call from Abby after she\'d dropped a bomb
on him.
If Abby were to be believed, she\'d given birth to his son
only months earlier, and now they were both in danger.
Had she been lying? His gut told him no. He\'d heard the fear
in her voice. Felt the terror even from across the telephone
line. Which was why, when she\'d sent him a photograph of the
boyโa damn spitting image of him with his dark hair
and eyes and Abby\'s cupid-bow mouthโand begged him to
wire $10,000 to a Western Union in Laramie, he hadn\'t
hesitated. He simply went to his savings account, made the
withdrawal and then persuaded Abby to meet him hereโtoday.
The money had been picked up, but Abby was conspicuously
absent. He\'d be a liar if he didn\'t admit to some
misgivings. Had she taken the money and split? Maybe.
The fact of the matter was, and this was a bit of an
embarrassment, he didn\'t know Abby well. Only well enough to
father a child after a torrid one-night stand that\'d been
completely out of character for him.
Damn. He pulled the photograph from his wallet and stared at
the child\'s image. Had he been played? A cynic would say,
wholeheartedly, yes. But he recognized his own features on
that child\'s face, and he couldn\'t walk away. Even if Abby
hadn\'t called, terrified and sobbing, he wouldn\'t have
been
able to walk away. That went against everything he believed
in, stood for. And so, here he sat, like a chump, waiting
for a woman who had plainly stood him up.
He flagged the waitress, tossing a ten-dollar bill on the
table. Her eyes lit up at the generous tip, but then she bit
her lip as if pinged by conscience. \"That\'s too much of a
tip for just an ice tea,\" she admitted.
He pushed the bill toward her but handed her a business
card, too. \"I need a favor,\" he said, hating that he
had no
idea what had happened to Abby and his son.
She pocketed the ten and accepted the card, her expression
wary. \"Sure. What can I do for you?\" She glanced at the
card, reading, \"Rafe Black, M.D. A doctor, huh?\"
\"Yes,\" he answered with a brief smile. \"I was
waiting for a
friend. Her name is Abby Michaels and she has a
three-month-old baby boy. If she happens to show up, please
give her my card. It\'s very important that I talk to her.
Can you do that for me?\"
She nodded. \"Sure. Is she okay?\"
\"I hope so,\" he said. God, he hoped so. He rose.
\"Thank you.
I appreciate your help.\"
\"No problem,\" she said. \"I hope your friend is
okay.\"
He answered with a smile as tight as the grip on his heart
and walked out of the diner, but in his gut, he knew
something was terribly wrong.
It wasn\'t long before he discovered he\'d been right.
Abby Michaels was dead. Rafe pushed his fingers through his
hair, that damnable tremble returning to his hands,
betraying everything he was doing to remain calm and in
control. He should\'ve stayed, should\'ve reported her
missing. Maybe they might\'ve found her beforeโฆ He suppressed
a racking shudder and tried to focus on the here and now,
but it wasn\'t as if he had any experience with this sort of
thing and there was so much at stake. He straightened and
leaned forward, dread and anxiety twisting his gut in knots.
\"And how did you find out about the victim\'s
death?\" the
stone-faced detective Victor Reynolds asked, looking up from
his paperwork, staring a hole into Rafe.
\"I caught something on the news about five murdered women,
and Abby was one of them. I was shocked,\" he said, but shock
was too mild of a word for what he was feeling. More like
reeling from a nightmare that he couldn\'t escape. After the
news report, it\'d taken him a full minute to fully
comprehend the enormity of the situation. Abby was dead;
what about his son? \"I knew she was in some kind of trouble
but I had no idea it was this bad. Listen, there\'s something
else, she had a child. Was she alone when she was found? The
news report didn\'t say.\"
\"No.\" Reynolds\'s gaze narrowed sharply. \"What
child?\"
\"She called me earlier in the week, saying she\'d had my
child, a son she named Devin,\" he admitted, the grit in his
eye burning from the lack of sleep. He\'d driven straight
through from Colorado Springs to this little
hole-in-the-wall place outside of Laramie, where Abby\'s body
had been found earlier that day. He\'d shortened the nearly
four-hour drive into three; it was a damn miracle he\'d
arrived alive. \"She told me to meet her at this little
diner, some greasy-spoon place about forty miles south from
here,\" he said. \"But she never showed. I should\'ve
known
something went wrong.\"
\"How well did you know the victim?\"
\"Not well,\" he said, embarrassed by his admission. He
wasn\'t
the kind to sleep around, but he\'d met Abby while away at a
medical conference in the hotel bar. One thing had led to
another and before he\'d known it, they\'d stumbled to his
room for drunken sex. Not his finest hour, for sure, and one
he hadn\'t planned to ever repeat. \"We had a one-night
stand
a little over a year ago. I hadn\'t seen or heard from her
since, until she called saying she was in some kind of
danger and needed money.\"
\"And you sent it to her?\"
He nodded. \"Ten thousand.\"
At that, Detective Reynolds paused, speculation in his flat,
squinty eyes. \"Ten large, eh? That\'s a lot of money to
send
to a virtual stranger.\"
\"She wasn\'t out to scam me. I heard the fear in her voice.
She was terrified.\"
\"Some women are good actresses,\" Reynolds said with a
subtle
shrug. \"You believed it was your kid before a paternity
test?\"
\"Yes,\" he said, growing angry at the detective\'s
implication
that Abby had duped him for some reason. This was starting
to feel like less of a good idea as he sat across the table
from the detective. \"Let\'s get to the point.
There\'s a woman
dead, and her child is missing. Are you going to put out an
Amber Alert or am I going to have to go up the ladder for
some results?\"
\"Cool your jets, hotshot,\" Reynolds said, his tone
hard. \"Of
course we\'ll issue an Amber Alert but let me tell you what
I\'m seeingโฆ. Motive.\"
\"Motive?\" Rafe stared, unable to fathom what the hell the
detective was getting at. \"What kind of motive?\"
Reynolds leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving
Rafe, watching his every move as if Rafe was some kind of
deranged killer who might jump for his throat at any minute.
\"Maybe you\'re pissed that she duped you for a kid that
wasn\'t yours? Ten large is a lot of money. But then, I hear
doctors make good money. Better than cops, that\'s for
sure.\"
Rafe ignored that. \"He\'s my son. I don\'t need a
paternity
test to confirm what I see with my eyesโthat he looks
just like me. And what kind of killer drives four hours to
the police station to help identify the body and then leaves
a DNA sample?\" he asked in disgust. \"You need to look into
the last place Abby was before she was killed. The news
report said the one thing the murdered women had in common
was this place called Cold Plains.\"
Reynolds grunted. \"Nice place. Ever been there?\"
\"No.\" He bit back his irritation at the man. \"Does
the name
Samuel Grayson mean anything to you?\"
\"Should it?\"
\"I don\'t know,\" Rafe said, frustration getting the
best of
him. \"But Abbyโฆshe was running from this Cold Plainsโฆ. I did
some looking around, and I guess this Samuel guy runs the
town. Maybe you ought to ask around, do some actual
investigative work,\" he muttered under his breath.
\"I don\'t tell you how to be a doctorโhow about you zip
your lip when it comes to police work?\" Reynolds growled,
bristling at the insult. But he relented, as if realizing
Rafe\'s suggestion had merit, and said, \"I know a guy
in Cold
Plains, Bo Fargo. He\'ll know if there\'s something hinky
going down in his town. I\'ll make some inquiries,\" he said
then slid a card across the table. \"We\'ll be in touch.
If a
child turns up and he matches your DNA profile, we\'ll call.
In the meantime, don\'t do anything rash like leave the
country.\"
It was everything Rafe could do to keep a civil tongue. He\'d
get no satisfaction from the local law enforcement; that
much was abundantly clear. They were too busy eyeing him for
the crime rather than chasing down any real leads. Abby had
been shot, execution style, in the back of the head, and
then her body had been dumped in a wooded area. If a hunter
hadn\'t come across her body, likely the wildlife would\'ve
taken care of any evidence left behind. If he wanted
answers, he\'d have to find them himself.
He was going to Cold Plains.
Ah hell, a voice in his head said, worrying about
the everyday details of his lifeโhis practice and his
patients, mostlyโbut all he had to do was pull that
picture and stare into those baby eyes and know none of that
mattered until that boy was safe. Tears stung his eyes and
he blinked them away, focusing to a narrow point out of
necessity. If he allowed himself to slip into the fear that
ate away at his control, he\'d lose whatever edge he might
have that could help him find his son.
Who are you kidding? You\'re not a cop, man, the
voice intruded again.
Leave it to the professionals.
Professionals like Detective Reynolds with his cold eyes and
ignorant small-town disposition? Not a chance. He was a
smart man, capable of figuring a few things out on his own.
He wished he\'d known more about Abby. Why hadn\'t he
tried to
find her after that night? They\'d had good chemistry. Her
soft laugh had been like a warm caress. Or maybe he\'d just
been really drunk. No, that couldn\'t have been it entirely.
Abby had had something special. The only reason he hadn\'t
pursued her after that night was because of his
single-minded career focus. Well, that, and the discomfort
of having to tell people that they\'d met in a bar and hooked
up after tequila shots. He scrubbed his face, pushing away
the sting of guilt. Now wasn\'t the time for thatโhe\'d
have plenty of time to twist with remorse after his son was
found. If he was found. No, don\'t think like that. He would
find him. That was a promise.
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