His Secret Christmas Baby. Rita Herron

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      C AREFUL NOT TO LET THE neighbors see him, Derrick slumped in the seat as two of them pulled from their driveways and passed his car.

      The cold seeped through him, but he’d long ago grown used to stakeouts. He just wished he’d brought a thermos of coffee to warm his hands and stave off the exhaustion weighing on him from lack of sleep.

      Finally the front door of the Phillipses’ house opened, and a man dressed in jeans and work boots carrying a hard hat stepped out. A woman stood behind him in a thick bathrobe, tears streaming down her face. The man shouted something he couldn’t distinguish, then turned and stormed toward his car. When he climbed inside, he slammed the door and took off, speeding from the drive as if he wanted to escape. The woman slammed the house door, then disappeared inside.

      Derrick frowned. It appeared the couple was having marital problems. Maybe arguing over whether or not they should have kidnapped the baby?

      If they had, why would they stay in town? Why wouldn’t they have disappeared?

      They would have to know that Brianna would confide about her altercation with them and the sheriff would check them out.

      He needed to talk to the husband alone, but first he wanted to see if the baby was inside, so he remained parked, watching. A half hour later, the woman appeared at the door again, this time dressed and wearing a long black coat. The snowfall had ceased, but the driveway had accumulated a couple of inches of snow, so she slowly picked her way to the car.

      She wasn’t carrying a baby, and he didn’t see a child’s seat in the car, either.

      Maybe she had a sitter inside?

      Or what if she had hired someone to kidnap the baby? She could be meeting with him later to pick up Ryan.

      Although at the moment, she didn’t have a diaper bag or any supplies with her. And she didn’t bring a suitcase, so she wasn’t leaving town.

      She might be desperate, but she probably knew Brianna would send the sheriff to her door, so decided to lay low and wait until the dust settled, then connect with the kidnapper afterward. That would be the smart thing to do.

      He kept his head down while she veered onto the street and waited until her car had cleared the corner. Then he slipped from his vehicle, crept along the side of the house to the back. Beside the stoop, he found a laundry room window, jimmied it open and climbed inside.

      Instincts alert, he hesitated in the doorway joining the laundry room to the kitchen, listening to make sure no one was inside.

      But an ominous silence filled the house.

      He combed through the kitchen, searched the cabinets to see if the Phillipses had stocked up on baby formula, but found nothing. In the same vein of thinking, he checked the living room, bathroom and two bedrooms—looking for baby paraphernalia, diapers and baby toys—and found a book of baby names where several had been circled. A white bassinet sat against the wall, but it was empty except for a stuffed lamb lying inside.

      Was this bassinet for Ryan?

      He needed to talk to the couple. But first he rushed to the desk and searched their computer and business records for any financials indicating they’d hired someone to kidnap Ryan.

      What he was doing was illegal, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

      Too often he’d had to wait on warrants and the perp had escaped. It was damn nice not to have to play by the rules.