Page 10 of Ransom for His Secret Son

“What can I do to help?” Sandra asked, and Brody had no trouble seeing the fear and alarm all over her face. This was eating away at her, too, because this was probably her grandson.

“You can go to my place,” he said, fighting through the tornado of thoughts whirling in his head. “I’ll have a deputy go with you.” He was already texting the station to arrange it. “I need you to set up a makeshift nursery. Uh, there are lots of baby things in the big closet in the guest room and in the storage room.”

Baby furniture and clothes that Miranda had bought when they’d been trying to conceive. After her death, Brody hadn’t been able to get rid of them, so he’d shoved the items away, closed the doors. And hadn’t looked at them again.

His mother nodded. “I’ll take care of it.” She shifted to Remi. “And what about you? Do you need anything?”

“Just a whole lot of answers about this baby,” Remi muttered.

“Yes, I want that, too.” She slid a glance at both of them. “But please be careful.”

“We will,” Brody assured her, and it was partially true.

When it came to the baby, the utmost caution would be taken. Brody would make sure he was guarded and protected. But he wasn’t sure he could take those kinds of measures when it came to himself. There was no telling what the sick twisted SOB who’d orchestrated this had in store for him.

Brody’s phone sounded with a text, and he got another shot of dread and worry before he saw it was from Jolene. And it was good news.

“Deputy Holt Callahan will meet you outside the hospital and will drive you to my place,” Brody relayed to his mom. “He’ll stay with you until I can get there.”

More alarm went through her eyes, and again there was nothing he could do to lessen it. The danger was there. He could feel it. And he needed his mother safe in case someone wanted to use her as a pawn, too.

Brody kissed his mother’s cheek, and they said their good-byes. When she was out of the room, he turned to Remi. “Go over the details again of your missing-baby case from a year ago. It has to be connected, or why else would that John Smith have demanded you bring the notes and files?”

She took out her phone and accessed something. “I just texted you the whole file so you can go through it for yourself. I’ll do the same, again,” she assured him. “For now, here’s the nutshell of what happened.”

Remi opened her mouth but then stopped and took a couple of ragged breaths. A reminder that this was twisting her up inside as well. A reminder, too, that she might still be in pain from the punch she’d taken.

“A year ago, Tarrant Eddington contacted his ex-wife, Grace, and told her he’d arranged for a surrogate to have their child,” Remi began. “He showed her a DNA report and pictures. But Grace thought he could have faked them, especially since Tarrant said he’d only give her the baby if she destroyed some evidence for his upcoming manslaughter trial.”

“What kind of evidence?” Brody asked.

“A surveillance video of the bar fight and two key witness statements,” she answered so quickly that Brody suspected she’d been giving this plenty of thought. “One of the witnesses was iffy and might have been able to be swayed. But the other had recently died in a car accident, and she’d given her sworn statement that could have been used to convict Tarrant.”

“An accident?” he questioned, his cop’s instincts kicking in.

“Possibly murdered,” Remi admitted, “by either Tarrant or someone he hired. Obviously, the man is bad news.”

Brody opened his mouth to respond, but a small, hiccuping sound cut through the tension.

His gaze snapped to the baby. Tiny fists wriggled free from the hospital blanket, and his face scrunched up in that partly awake, confused way newborns had. Another soft noise—half whimper, half yawn—escaped his lips.

Something in Brody’s chest twisted. Hard.

Before he even realized what he was doing, he reached down, sliding a careful hand beneath the baby’s body. He was so small. Warm. Fragile. Brody swallowed against the lump rising in his throat as he lifted the baby and ran a gentle thumb over his tiny fingers.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice rougher than he intended. “I’ll keep you safe.”

The baby blinked up at him, his little face still scrunched with sleep. Then his fingers curled around Brody’s thumb.

Brody went completely still.

The world outside the hospital room, the threats, the unanswered questions, the danger faded for a heartbeat. Right now, all that mattered was this tiny life in his hands. His son.

And no one was going to take him away.

The tiny fingers remained wrapped around Brody’s thumb, the grip surprisingly strong for someone so small. Brody didn’t move, barely breathed, afraid that if he did, he’d break whatever fragile connection had just formed between them.

Then the door opened, and a nurse stepped in, a tray of medical supplies in her hands.