Wild Stallion. Delores Fossen

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СКАЧАТЬ she quickly supplied. Again, she broke his grip.

      He stepped in front of her and blocked her path. “Ann Reeves?” he repeated. “Why were you looking around the place as if you planned to steal something?”

      Her eyes widened. She shook her head. A thin breath left her mouth. “I would never take anything that wasn’t mine. Never.”

      Jackson expected her to break the eye contact, to try to move away from him again, but she didn’t. She held her ground and stared at him. “Can you say the same?” she asked.

      Now that was a question he hadn’t expected. “Would I take something that wasn’t mine?” he clarified. “It depends.”

      She blinked, her memorable blue eyes narrowing. “You know what I’m talking about.”

      No. He didn’t. Nor was he sure why he’d given her that “it depends” answer. The old Jackson would have said that. And in the past he would have meant it. There’d been a time in his life when he would have acquired property, or whatever he wanted, not through illegal means exactly, but he hadn’t been above stooping to down-and-dirty business tactics.

      That was before Caden.

      Before he’d held his son and had his world and his heart turned upside down.

      Jackson was about to ask her to explain her last comment when his phone rang. While still blocking her path, he took the cell from his pocket and answered it.

      “Evan,” he responded. “What do we have?”

      “Well, she’s not Ann Reeves,” Evan quickly provided. “Her driver’s license photo is a match to a woman named Bailey Hodges. She’s thirty-four, and her address is on the north side of San Antonio.”

      Bailey Hodges. The name sounded familiar, but Jackson couldn’t put his finger on where he’d heard it before.

      “I’ll have her background in a few minutes,” Evan added, and he hung up.

      Jackson put away his phone and got right in her face. “All right, why are you here in my home, Bailey Hodges? Did you leave that threatening letter for me?”

      She opened her mouth to say something but seemed to change her mind. “What threatening letter?” And she was too surprised and concerned for that not to be a real question.

      He continued to study her. “The one I sent a copy of to the San Antonio Police Department so they could investigate it.” That was all Jackson intended to tell her about that matter. “Why are you here?” he repeated.

      She didn’t answer him. Instead, she took out a folded piece of paper from her jeans pocket. For a moment, he thought it was another threatening letter, but it was a pair of photographs that looked as if they’d been copied from the computer. She thrust the paper at him.

      “Do you know either of these women?” she demanded.

      He glanced at the two photographs. They were both strangers. “What does this have to do with you being here at the estate?”

      “Everything,” she whispered. A moment later, she repeated it.

      Tired of this confusing conversation and whatever game she was playing, Jackson stepped out of her way. “It’s time for you to leave.”

      “No.”

      “No?” It wasn’t often anyone said that to him. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time. The woman was gutsy. Or maybe not very bright.

      “Look at the pictures again, please. Perhaps the hair color isn’t the same. They could have done something to alter their appearances when or if you met them. So look hard and tell me if you know one or both of them.”

      Jackson didn’t bother looking at the photos again, and he handed the paper back at her. “I don’t know them. Or you. But I do know you’re lying about who you are, and I know I want you out of my house now.”

      She hesitated and then turned as if she might just do as he’d ordered. But she stopped. “What kind of letter did you receive?”

      He mentally groaned. “I don’t intend to discuss that with you.”

      More hesitation. “Was the threatening letter a warning about me?”

      “What?” This conversation had just taken a more confusing turn. “Why would it be?”

      She seemed relieved. Or something. And she waved him off. “I’ll go, for now. But I can’t stay away. I have to know the truth about him.”

      Jackson couldn’t remember the last time he’d been dumbfounded, but he sure as hell was now. He watched her walk to the double entry doors and wondered if he should stop her and demand an explanation. But his phone rang again.

      “Evan,” he said, answering the call.

      “I found out some things about Bailey Hodges,” Evan started. “She’s single. A graphic artist who designs promotion brochures and such. She’s actually done some work for us. She was engaged, and her ex-fiancé was her business partner, but things must have soured, because he moved to Europe nearly a year ago, and she removed him from her business records.”

      “She did work for us,” Jackson mumbled. “Maybe that’s why her name sounds familiar.”

      “Maybe. But it’s probably because she was one of the San Antonio maternity hostages.”

      Now that did more than just ring bells. Four months ago, a group of pregnant women, new mothers, medical staff and even some babies had been taken hostage by two masked gunmen. They’d been held for hours.

      Several people had died that day, including a cop’s wife.

      That instantly gave Jackson a connection with her. They’d both survived something that others hadn’t. It’d been the top news story for weeks, even after the two gunmen and their boss had been captured.

      But then Jackson remembered something else about that hostage situation.

      One of the newborns had gone missing.

      He remembered the Amber Alert that had been issued, mainly because he had been involved with the preliminary adoption process at the time. Even though he’d yet to hold Caden or even know of his existence, Jackson was now fully aware of how heart-crushing it would be to lose a child.

      A child that had come into his life just two weeks after the hostage situation and the Amber Alert.

      “Yes,” Evan said, as if he knew exactly what Jackson was thinking. “Bailey Hodges’s baby is the one the cops couldn’t find after they rescued the hostages.”

      Jackson’s stomach twisted into a cold, hard knot.

      “A coincidence,” Jackson mumbled.

      “Could be. Caden’s four months old. The age is right, but the adoption lawyer you’re using is reputable.”

      Still, it was a private adoption, and there’d been room for some СКАЧАТЬ