“That’s why Jonathon vouched for you, though. Because you think there’s more going on.”

  He nodded.

  So did Lenora.

  If Gladstone was involved, and now the Willoughbys, someone in Pahrump, maybe Sister’s Ranch, who else were they fighting?

  Up against so much power and money, did they even have a chance?

  Fighting panic again, Haley cried inside for her baby sister, for the child her sister might have carried.

  And was fearing for its life.

  * * *

  “Who’s Jonathon?” The question came at Paul before he’d even started his new blue SUV sitting in the circular drive in front of Lenora Willoughby’s home. His mind spinning, he needed quiet time. Not questions.

  And said, “Retired chief of police. I’ve never met him. Didn’t speak to him. But someone I have worked with on the force took my call at face value, knew that Jonathon knew the Willoughbys and got us an interview. In exchange, if I find anything actionable pertaining to Noah Willoughby, I’ve agreed to turn it over to the police.”

  Something he would have done anyway.

  “You’ve seemed to know your way around here well, and to know people. Did you live here for a while?”

  An odd question coming from the woman with whom he’d expected to spend his entire life. But, considering their circumstances, a fair one. It just hit him uncomfortably. Haley seeming to know him so well, and not knowing him.

  “Live, no. I’ve been here a fair amount.”

  The constant barrage of Haley feelings had to stop, though he didn’t know how to make that happen. He had to find a way.

  He had work to do.

  A job that, if he failed, would haunt him for the rest of his life.

  And so, as they returned to the luxurious Strip hotel he’d deemed safest for them to occupy for the night—one too filled with moneyed tourists for someone in the Vegas money business to risk having a murder in—he excused himself immediately to his room, explaining, quite legitimately, that he needed computer time.

  Before long, he was fully engrossed in following trails and hours passed before he’d known they’d gone. Sometime around eleven he sent a text to Haley, letting her know to be ready to head out at seven in the morning, and through the small crack opening of the door adjoining their rooms, heard something drop. Another minute passed before his phone binged her affirmative response.

  She was awake, even if he’d just woken her. He had to stop himself from pushing open her door, sharing the things he’d found.

  His news would wait until morning, but if he went into her room, saw her in bed, there were other things that might not wait.

  Like his body’s need to find the sustenance that only hers could give...

  He shook his head, stepped out of his pants and underwear and took himself into a cold shower.

  When he returned to his room, his phone showed another text.

  Sleep good.

  The last thing they’d said to each other every single night of their marriage. Even the nights when they’d been raging mad.

  Sleep good, he texted back.

  Even though he knew he shouldn’t have done so.

  * * *

  In new red shorts, a white button-up sleeveless blouse and her white flip-flops, Haley was ready and waiting when Paul knocked lightly on the door between their rooms the next morning. Her heart jumped when she saw him standing there looking so...utterly manly...in gray-white-and-black-plaid shorts, a gray shirt that, as always, covered the gun she knew was attached at his waist, and tennis shoes.

  As liquid desire stroked through her, she broke eye contact and reached for her over-the-shoulder bag and suitcase. “I’m assuming we’re taking everything with us as before?” she asked, and at his nod, followed him through his room and out the door.

  She understood the process.

  And consumed with worryfor that baby.

  Two people had been killed. She might have been a third...

  And maybe that was why her body was overboard with desire for Paul’s. Her psyche was fixated on the only emotion strong enough to distract her from fear. The explanation had flaws—one being that thinking of Paul naked scared her, too, because of the intensity of her wanting—but she went with the distraction theory.

  She’d also started to comfort herself with the reminder that Kelsey might not have been pregnant at all. It was possible that there wasn’t a baby in wrong hands, needing her to save its life.

  Or any baby at all.

  “I didn’t get a list of visits,” she finally said as they headed toward their vehicle in the multitiered covered parking garage, passing people pulling suitcases on their way into the casino as they left. He’d given her lists of where they were going every other time they’d headed out.

  “I know.” With a push of a button, Paul unlocked the SUV, threw both of their bags into the backseat—within reach, she knew—and waited for her to get in before he offered, “We’ll grab some breakfast, first.” He stopped, glanced in the rearview mirror, started the vehicle immediately and calmly pulled out.

  “Are we being followed?” She didn’t look in the mirror on the outside of her door, didn’t want to make anything obvious.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe.”

  Her tension flared, and yet anger did, too. “Who’s behind all this?” she asked as much out of frustration as anything as he exited the parking garage with two other vehicles, one at least a rental with a couple inside because she’d noticed them, and the tags, as it exited before them. “Is it Gladstone?”

  “Could be,” he told her. “I’m sure he’s involved somehow. And maybe someone connected to Willoughby. Someone wanted him silenced.”

  Her heart sank yet again as she realized that even after several hours of searching, he still didn’t have answers. It wasn’t fair to him that she be disappointed, but she was. Also not fair to him, but she’d wanted him to make miracles happen for her.

  Not the kind of expectation she usually put on anyone.

  Had she done that in the past, too? Expected so much more of him than a human being could produce?

  Built fantasies and somehow believed they were true?

  Was she her mother and sister, after all?

  Haley’s mind jumped and flitted as she remained silent, watching as Paul went through his turns and lane changes, either trying to lose a tail, or see if they had one. She wasn’t interrupting. Alone the night before, she’d realized that having her around, distracting him, hadn’t been fair to him, either. He was used to working alone.

  Had become an expert by working alone...

  She’d not only barged in with her request, with her desperate plea for him to take on her job, but she’d disrupted his process, too...

  “I think I’ve lost him, for now, at least,” he said. “But someone knew where we stayed last night. We won’t be going back there.”

  He was expecting another night on the road. Chasing shadows?

  “I’m sorry about the cheap food, but it’s best at this point,” he said as he pulled into a breakfast place with a drive-through window, stopping at the order speaker.

  “You do what you need to do,” she told him, ready to let him know that she’d get out of his way if it would make the going easier, wanting to believe she could, but gave him her breakfast order, instead. She liked bagels. And eggs. And they’d had fruit, too.

  “I need to know that you’re okay to hang tight for another tough day,” he said after he’d placed their order and they were waiting in line to pay and collect their food. “Having you with me, Kelsey’s grieving sister, her executor and beneficiary, and even occasional woman friend, has proven helpful and this day is going to be more of the same.”

  The way he said it, choosing his words with care, watching her, sharpened her focus again. The hours alone the night before—they’d gotten to her.

  But maybe because there’d been nothing constructive for her to do.

  “Of course I’m okay. I’m always okay, Paul.” He knew that, at least. She wasn’t a woman who fell apart. At least not with anyone else around.

  Sobbing in front of people—other than Jeanine—she couldn’t do it. Just dried up.

  Assessing her a moment longer, he nodded.

  “Okay, I’ve found some things...”

  And, as the line moved and he had to pay for their food, she knew. He’d been concerned about telling her. Which meant it was big. And probably not good.

  Fine. She was ready. Having something real to focus on was better than listening to the doubts and suppositions floating around in her brain. The night of their second anniversary had taught her that much. By the time Paul had arrived home so late for the ruined anniversary dinner, she’d already been convinced he’d been with another woman before she’d asked him if he had.

  As soon as she’d confirmed that he hadn’t been in an accident, or detained by some kind of emergency, she’d gone straight for the other number one explanation on her mental list.

  The other woman.

  Paul handed a cardboard drink carrier to her, and then a bag, closing his window as he pulled away. Watching behind him.

  “Is he back there?”

  “Not that I can see.”

  “So what did you find?”

  He reached for coffee. Taking his hint, she divvied up the food, determined to show him she was up for the job, which included eating to keep her strength intact, took a bite and after a somewhat difficult swallow, took a coffee chaser and said, “Okay, now?”

  Nodding, sandwich in hand as held the steering wheel, too, he kept his gaze toward the road in front of him as he said, “I found another shell company with dealings with the first one by searching Maya’s name. Turns out Maya Ambrose has a credit score.”

  “With Kelsey’s social security number?”

  “Yes.”

  “So we’re certain Kelsey assumed another identity. What we learned at the club yesterday was right. Maya Ambrose, Kelsey, was a good friend of Noah’s.” It wasn’t news. She’d already been sure.

  But to have things officially confirmed with fact—that was new to their process.

  “The home on Calypso is owned by Maya Ambrose, though I had to dig deeper to find that. The public record wasn’t available, which can happen when someone appeals to the courts with valid reason to have it not be so.”

  So there’d be record of the court order, right? But, also...

  “She bought a house?”

  “More like someone else did, but put it in her name, and is making payments on it through the shell company, I’m guessing to build Maya’s credit.”

  “She intended to use that name indefinitely?”

  “It sounds like it.”

  “She must have been really scared of something...”

  “Or purposely hiding something from someone...”

  “Like the fact that she was pregnant? And then, after the birth, the fact that she was raising a child?”

  “We don’t know that yet.”

  “But it’s a logical theory.”

  “Yes.”

  She took a second bite of her bagel. And a third. Wanting all of the sustenance she could get.

  “Where are we going now?”

  “I got together with Winchester last night, the financial expert from Sierra’s Web...”

  She nodded, somewhat impatiently.

  “The credit card we found in Maya Ambrose’s name was paid for out of yet another shell company, and that company also made payments to an obstetrician here in Vegas. His office opens in about fifteen minutes.”

  Haley dropped her bagel.

  She’d likely have spilled her coffee too, had she been holding it.

  She tried to shut down emotion, but just couldn’t. “Kelsey was seeing an obstetrician?”

  “It appears that way.”

  Which meant that there was a baby.

  Or, at least, that there had been.

  She was an aunt.

  “Hold on, Hale.” Paul’s voice was kind again. Too kind.

  “What?”

  “There’s no birth registered in this state or any surrounding states, for Maya, either.”

  Dread rushed in. “You’re telling me she aborted the baby?”

  “There’s no record of any payments to an abortion clinic.”

  Her mind clicked. She was a nurse. Knew some things. “How many times did she visit the obstetrician?”

  “Six, according to payment records.”

  “Assuming she didn’t start going until at least four weeks into her pregnancy, the baby would have been viable by then.”

  “And she might have given it up for adoption,” he pointed out. Rightly so. She’d gone there first. But...

  “If she was planning to do that, why go to all the trouble of permanently changing her identity?” The more likely scenario—that the baby had been taken from her—didn’t bear speaking aloud at that point.

  When he didn’t answer, she knew that he’d already been down the same path. And reached the same conclusion. Noah’s warning about wrong hands was suddenly loud and clear.

  Crushing.

  Unless...he obviously thought there’d still been time for Haley to save the baby or he wouldn’t have risked his life coming to her. She told Paul so, and though he said nothing, didn’t feed her hope, he didn’t point out any other, opposing explanation, either.

  He’d reached the same conclusion.

  Anguish, elation, fear, excitement, gratitude, sorrow all warred inside her, and still she maintained.

  She was an aunt.

  Had been told her niece or nephew was in danger. Noah Willoughby, a twenty-one year old on the brink of his future had likely died trying to get the message to her.

  Which meant she had to stay strong and continue fighting whatever stood in their way.

  Mostly, it meant that she wasn’t going to rest until that baby was found and secure.

  Chapter 14

  Dr. Zane Andrews was nice enough when Paul first asked to speak with him. In his white coat and gray dress pants, the doctor offered a polite smile at Haley as Paul introduced her as the sister of one of Andrews’s clients.

  “You do know that I can’t give out patient information to anyone, including family members, unless said patient is a minor or under conservatorship and unable to make pertinent decisions on their own...”

  Clearly, he didn’t think he had any clients with a sister unknown to him that fell under either of those categories.

  Based on the waiting room, the minimal reception area and the couple of doors they’d passed along the hallway, Andrews’s practice was on the small side.

  “I’m Maya Ambrose’s sister,” Haley said. “You might or might not have heard, but she died in a car accident last month...”

  Paul had coached her on how he’d like to see the meeting transpire. She’d played it exactly as he’d laid it out for her.

  Andrews’s reaction did not. The man stiffened, his smile still there, but not accompanied by any sense of congeniality on the rest of his facial features. Including eyes that no longer met Paul’s gaze head-on. He looked at Paul, and at Haley, but his gaze didn’t seem to land.

  “I’m very sorry to hear that, but this doesn’t fall into any category that allows me to speak to you about any of my patients.”

  “But you do confirm that she was your patient?” Haley asked. “I’m the executor of her estate and if there’s an heir we don’t know about...”

  Zing. She landed exactly as he’d hoped.

  “I am not aware, offhand, of having a patient by that name. Did you check birth records? If indeed your sister gave birth, there’d be a public record...”

  “We checked, and no there wasn’t,” Paul spoke up. He didn’t like the vibe he was getting from Dr. Andrews. “But there’s evidence of Maya having paid you for services,” he said, having to go with plan B and push harder. The doctor’s gaze sharpened as the smile fell from his face. His glance between Haley and Paul didn’t bode well.

  “I’ve been going over all her bills,” Haley jumped in. “As executor and all...”

  As an attempt to save the interview, the effort was good. Unfortunately, Paul was pretty sure that there was nothing to save. So didn’t try.

  “Look, we know she was a patient here, we have the dates she paid for visits and we know that the baby she was carrying had to be at least seven months along the last time she paid your bill with said credit card. All we’re asking for is some information about the baby’s birth, and, if it’s something you can legally share, what happened to it.”

  “I can’t help you with any of that.”

  “Did you deliver Maya’s baby?”

  The man opened his mouth to speak, shoved a hand into the pocket of his jacket, jingled whatever was in there. “I’ve told you, I’m not aware, offhand, of having a patient by that name.”

  Andrews knew something. Obviously he knew Maya. But more than that, he had information they needed. Paul would bet his life on it.

  But the betting wasn’t going to net him much. The man was nervous. Someone with more power than Paul or Haley had gotten to him.

  He couldn’t prove it. But the doctor’s rehearsed responses had landed with a big thump in the middle of Paul’s mental puzzle table.

  He pulled out his credentials. “I’m a licensed officer of the law,” he said. “Licensed in multiple states. I’m not here to give you any trouble. I just need some information.”