Twin Threat Christmas (12 page)

“The foul play,” Chris suggested, his voice purposely soft, not wanting to disturb the baby or Alyssa, “whoever took her. You think they’re still—”

“They’re still controlling her, or holding her prisoner or whatever it is. Maybe she escaped just long enough to hand off the baby? She wouldn’t be parted from her son unless his life was in danger. And hers, I suppose. Why else would she go eight years without letting me know she was alive, unless she had no other choice?”

Chris watched the woman wrestle with all the horrible possibilities and wished he had something reassuring to tell her. But he could still hardly wrap his head around the idea. Was Vanessa Jackson still alive? And she’d left her son in her sister’s manger? It seemed a bit crazy, but Chris had to admit, the little tyke in his arms bore a strong resemblance to his aunt. And Vanessa’s body had never been found, so it was technically possible she was still alive, no matter what the legal record said.

His mind now made up, Chris was ready to take the next step toward finding Vanessa Jackson. He may have failed her before, but if she was still out there, he could find her. “We need to file a report about this baby and get your sister’s case reopened.”

Alyssa took a sudden step back and looked up at him as though he’d slapped her. “No. That’s the last thing we should do.”

THREE

J
ust as she’d been about to start trusting him, Alyssa was reminded that this police officer, no matter how charming his smile, was a stranger, an unknown entity. And just like the incompetent officers who’d failed to find her sister eight years ago, even going so far as to suggest she and her grandfather had pushed Vanessa to run away, this man was more likely to hurt than help her.

She’d also thought of something else. Surely her sister knew better than to leave the baby with her without any instructions. Vanessa had always been the twin who was good with kids—Alyssa had been better with cement mix. Like the note on the baby’s shirt, perhaps Vanessa
had
left more instructions. Alyssa just needed to find them. She could check the car seat, the diaper bag, the rest of the baby’s clothes.

And really, she needed to get the kid indoors. Not only was the evening growing dark and cooling off, but if Vanessa had left the baby there to hide him, Alyssa wouldn’t be doing her sister any favors, either, standing outside in plain sight from the road.

“I’ll take him.” She held out her hands toward the baby, whom the officer still held upright in his arms. “I need to get him inside.”

“I can carry him in for you.”

Alyssa watched the man’s face as he spoke. Was he just offering to be friendly? There almost seemed to be a hint of challenge in his words. His steely gaze didn’t leave her face.

She weighed her options quickly. She wanted to get the baby inside, perhaps even more desperately than she wanted rid of the officer. And the man
did
seem to have a knack for handling the kid. He knew about gas bubbles, anyway, which Alyssa had no clue about. Perhaps it would be easier in the long run, if she let him carry the baby inside. He could hold her nephew while she searched for further instructions from her sister.

And if Vanessa needed help, it might not be a bad idea to have the law on her side. Granted, the officers who tried to find her sister eight years before hadn’t been much help. Their efforts had certainly been disappointing.

But there was something about this man that made her almost wish he could help her.

“Okay,” she agreed. Then, for good measure, she added, “Thank you. I’ll carry the car seat and the diaper bag.”

“You sure you can handle both of those?” the policeman asked as Alyssa hoisted up the bulging bag and awkward car seat.

“Portland cement comes in ninety-four-pound bags,” she informed him. She lifted the car seat high enough to avoid bumping it into any of her statuary as she led him to the front door of the cottage. “I carry those around all the time.” As she spoke, she paused and set down the car seat on the front stoop to free up her hands to open the door.

The officer let out a low whistle.

“What?” Alyssa glanced around the yard but didn’t see anything in the twilit darkness. Granted, with so many statues clustered around, anyone could be hiding close by without her seeing them.

“That’s a lot for a girl to lift.”

Alyssa felt her face color and hoped the officer couldn’t see. Yes, she had always been the tomboy, the athlete—albeit not a particularly accomplished one. Softball had been her best sport, but she’d been a much better thrower than hitter. Vanessa had been the pretty sister, the one all the boys noticed.

Was it because of the officer’s handsome smile that she suddenly cared what he thought of her?

It was silly. She had more important things to worry about.

“Do you mind holding the baby a little longer while I look in the diaper bag? Maybe my sister left more instructions, or a clue or something like that.” She placed the bag on the front desk that occupied the center of what would have been the living room, had the space not always been used for customer transactions.

“That’s a good idea. He doesn’t seem to mind me.”

Indeed, the baby was tugging on the officer’s name badge.

“Jensen.” Alyssa read the name, hardly realizing she’d spoken out loud until the officer smiled.

There was that cute dimple again. “Chris Jensen.” He extended his free hand. “And you’re—”

“Alyssa Jackson,” she informed him, a little surprised when his mouth formed the words even as she spoke them. He knew her name? It was almost as distressing as the awareness of his touch that tingled up her arm as he shook her hand.

But of course he knew her name. It was written on the baby’s shirt. Her surprise was probably a weird side effect from the fact that she wasn’t around people much. That she had to fight back a blush when she shook his hand was most likely also a symptom of her isolated existence. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d shaken anyone’s hand.

But she was still pretty sure it hadn’t tingled so much, no matter how long ago it may have been.

“Diaper bag.” She spoke the words as a reminder, to stop watching Officer Jensen’s face for the reappearance of the dimple and to get to work figuring out what her sister must have been thinking, leaving her a child. Really, she needed to get out more. At what point had she been reduced to muttering aloud?

Not until Officer Jensen showed up.

She shook off that thought and went to work, unzipping the main compartment to reveal diapers—no messages anywhere on or amid those that she could see—wipes, a couple of outfits, a small blanket, a can of baby formula, an empty bottle, pacifier, and a few adorably tiny hats and socks.

The closest thing she could find to instructions was the printed label on the side of the formula can.

Mix four level scoops with eight ounces of water.

Not any more complicated than mixing cement, as it turned out. But it didn’t help her figure out what her sister was up to—or more important, how to help her.

Alyssa felt her sense of desperation increasing as she checked every pocket in the bag. Tissues. More wipes. Another empty bottle.

Nothing personal or handwritten, no clues that would tell her anything about her sister’s whereabouts.

Officer Jensen eyed the empty bottle. “I wonder how long it’s been since he ate.”

“I don’t know. How often do babies eat?”

“At this age? Probably every three to four hours. Since we don’t know when he ate last, he may be due for supper soon.”

“Supper.” Alyssa repeated the word flatly. She hadn’t eaten anything yet herself, not that she often stopped work until close to bedtime. There was always too much to do. But a panicked thought occurred to her. “What do babies eat at this age? More than just bottles?”

“Oh, sure.” Officer Jensen squinted at the baby’s face. “He’s got a few teeth in there. He can probably handle soft fruits. Do you have any bananas?”

“I’m all out.”

“Cookies?”

“I made peanut-butter-chocolate chip the other day.” She hurried toward the kitchen at the back of the small cottage, grabbed the container of cookies, popped off the lid and held them out toward him.

Officer Jensen carried the baby through the small living room toward her. “I don’t think babies are supposed to eat peanut butter until they’re a year old. Unless that’s an old rule. My youngest niece is three, and I never could keep up with all the changing rules.”

“There are rules about things like peanut butter?” Alyssa felt her sense of desperation rising. Vanessa hadn’t left any clues, just a baby. And Alyssa didn’t know any of the rules about taking care of a baby.

“He might be a year old by now.” The officer studied the baby’s face as if trying to decide.

Alyssa set the open cookie container on the kitchen counter and leaned against the cupboard behind her. What had Vanessa been thinking leaving her a baby with no instructions? Surely Vanessa would have left instructions if she’d had time—more than that, she’d have stuck around to hold and hug her, to explain where she’d been for the past eight years.

Why? Why had she come so close and yet not explained anything? Who had her? Surely she had to be in danger to have left her baby, to have stayed away so long. But if danger was following her sister so closely, what if it followed the baby here?

Overwhelmed by the questions, Alyssa grabbed a cookie, then held out the container to the officer. “Cookie?”

“Those look good, thanks.” He took a bite and quickly moved it out of the baby’s reach. “I think this little guy is getting hungry. What else do you have?”

Alyssa bent to inspect the contents of the fridge. Ketchup. Eggs. A couple of lemons and half a head of cauliflower. Nothing that looked like baby food.

“Do you have any applesauce?” The officer peered in beside her, munching the cookie and holding the rest away from the infant’s grasping fingers.

“Sorry.”

“Oatmeal?”

“Yes. Babies eat oatmeal?”

“My sister’s did—with applesauce. But I think plain should work, too.”

“Okay.” Alyssa gulped a breath and stuck her head in the cupboard, hoping the officer hadn’t spotted the tear that sneaked down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly. She was not a crying person, generally. It took a lot to make her cry. Like the disappearance of her sister.

Or the fact that her sister had been close enough to leave her child behind but hadn’t stuck around long enough to see her or leave any explanation about where she’d been for the past eight years.

* * *

Chris finished off the cookie and stood back while Alyssa made the oatmeal. He still wanted to look around, maybe even check out the workshop to see if he could find anything that would point to the drug-smuggling operation he’d read about, but for now he had plenty of reasons for simply observing Alyssa.

For one, if she was related to the drug-smuggling operation, maybe she would do or say something that would give herself away. He also wanted to be sure she could handle taking care of the baby before he left her alone with the child. He’d investigated enough child-neglect cases to feel a strong sense of responsibility toward making sure Alyssa knew what she was doing.

Granted, she certainly seemed to care about doing her best to take care of the child. The only thing he could really hold against her at this point was his suspicion about smuggling, and he had no evidence to back up those suspicions...yet. Alyssa had every legal right to care for her nephew if her sister had indeed placed the child in her care.

But she also clearly had no experience with babies, and she seemed to be overwhelmed by her nephew’s sudden appearance.

Not that he blamed her. More than anything, the thought that filled his head was the real possibility that Vanessa Jackson wasn’t dead. That she might be alive, somewhere nearby, even. That he could find her. Close the case. Give her family—well, her sister, anyway—some peace after all these years.

He’d watched Alyssa carefully as she unpacked the diaper bag, hoping Vanessa had left a clue to her whereabouts. But as Alyssa had emptied everything from the bag onto the desk, Chris had found himself more fascinated by Alyssa than the contents of the bag. The young woman was clearly wrestling with the sudden appearance of her nephew and all its implications. The possibility that her sister might be alive—and needing help, if only with taking care of her son—had dredged up powerful emotions.

Chris wanted to help and to stick around long enough to make sure both Alyssa and the baby were going to be okay. That was part of why he’d become a police officer in the first place—to help people, to see justice achieved. The fact that the first major case he’d encountered after joining the department had never really been solved still rankled him. But if they could find Vanessa, he could solve the case.

“Oatmeal,” Alyssa announced, stirring the concoction. “It’s still pretty hot.”

“Let’s mix up some formula. You can pour some into the oatmeal. That will cool it off.”

“Got it.” Alyssa stepped past him in the narrow kitchen, grabbed the formula can and the clean empty bottle, and stepped past him again on her way to the sink.

Her ponytail was still woefully lopsided, and she still had that smear of gray on her cheek, but she didn’t look bad or silly. In fact, the way the loose hairs framed her face, it was as if she had one of those fancy hairstyles like models and famous people wore. She looked nice. Unpretentious. The kind of girl a guy could be himself around, whom he wouldn’t mind spending time with and getting to know better.

What was he thinking?

For months, he’d suspected she might be smuggling drugs. He shouldn’t get distracted by how easy it was to spend time with her. Even if she did make delicious cookies.

“Uh, here.” He settled the baby back into the car seat as Alyssa finished mixing the bottle. “You can use the car seat for a high chair for now. I’m going to take a look around.”

Alyssa looked up at him with fear in her eyes. “Look around?” She glanced about the tiny kitchen warily, as though danger might be lurking behind the refrigerator.

“You said you thought your sister was on the run? Or maybe escaped briefly from her captors?”

“You think there might—”

“I’m just going to take a look around. Okay?” Chris wasn’t sure how well he could tie his excuse to her sister’s disappearance, but he’d waited too long for this opportunity to let it pass, no matter how terrified Alyssa looked at the thought that danger might have followed her sister and the baby. He felt a twinge of guilt. “I’ll come back inside when I’m done. Give a holler if you need me, okay?”

Chris stepped outside and took a deep breath of the evening air. It was dark out now, completely dark. This far on the edge of town, streetlights were few and far between. Alyssa’s statues cast sprawling shadows in the moonlight. Chris stared at them for a few long seconds, but saw no sign of movement.

Ignoring the statues, he hurried to the workshop, fully expecting an automatic light to come on as he approached, but nothing happened. But then, the place looked pretty run-down. Used up. Old.

Just like the tiny cottage he’d exited, the workshop looked old. Though the front office and tiny kitchen had been spotlessly clean save for a couple of dishes in the sink, the carpet and linoleum had to be decades old. The cupboards were freshly painted but original to the house.

Chris tried the workshop door and was almost surprised to find it wasn’t locked. But then, Alyssa had said she’d been busy working when the baby’s arrival surprised her. She’d probably been coming and going between the workshop and the office and hadn’t had an opportunity to close up for the night.