First-Class Father Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Excerpt

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Books by Charlotte Douglas

  Title Page

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  Copyright

  “Who are you protecting?”

  “No one,” she lied to Dylan. “Chip’s father is dead. What difference does his name make to you?”

  “It shouldn’t matter, but I need to know. I was so convinced you loved me…”

  Heather needed all her self-restraint to keep from blurting out the truth about her son’s real father.

  Dylan turned away and, as if in shock and functioning by rote, picked up the folder containing the boy’s medical records.

  “I’ll take that.” She attempted to snatch it from him, but he stepped beyond her reach, flipped the folder open and began to read. Heather was paralyzed with mixed emotions.

  He glanced up from the doctor’s records and gaped at her. “Chip is his nickname?”

  Clasping her arms around her midriff in a futile attempt to stop trembling, she nodded.

  “His legal name is Dylan Wade Taylor?” He stumbled to the bed and sank onto it as if his legs had given way.

  She nodded again, numbly.

  Awe filled his face, and she longed to touch the strong curve of his jaw, so like Chip’s. “He’s my son?”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Charlotte Douglas has worked as a college English instructor, an actress, journalist and even a church musician, but she enjoys most creating romantic mysteries packed with suspense. In First-Class Father, the follow-up companion to Susan Kearney’s Priority Male in Harlequin Intrigue’s RETURN TO SENDER series, she uses a fictional setting of her small town, an antique hunters’ mecca on Florida’s west coast, where she lives with her husband and two cairn terriers.

  Books by Charlotte Douglas

  HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

  380—DREAM MAKER

  434—BEN’S WIFE

  HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

  591—IT’S ABOUT TIME

  623—BRINGING UP BABY

  Don’t miss any of our special offers. Write to us at the following address for information on our newest releases.

  Harlequin Reader Service

  U.S. 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

  Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

  First-Class Father

  Charlotte Douglas

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Dylan Wade—A handsome cop with a passion for justice and an aversion to commitment.

  Heather Taylor—Determined to find her kidnapped son and the person who stalks her.

  Chip Taylor—Heather’s little boy.

  John Rowland—Heather’s neighbor, who threatens to take her to court.

  Andy Hayward—Ex-husband of Heather’s friend, who blames his ruined marriage on Heather’s interference.

  Robert Tipton—A wealthy attorney with a grudge.

  Lily and Talbot Moore—They’re searching for a child stolen from them twenty-five years ago.

  Rand Sinclair—Dylan’s best friend and the Moores’ son-in-law with motives of his own.

  Jasmine Sinclair—The Moores’ daughter and Rand’s wife, who might hold the key to Heather’s dilemma.

  Irene Moore—Talbot’s ex-wife, who is out of the country but has strong motives for revenge.

  Charles Wilcox—Irene’s brother, in jail for kidnapping Lily, and for the attempted murders of Jasmine and Talbot.

  T.J., Art and Blain—Sons of Talbot and Irene and heirs to Talbot’s considerable fortune.

  Prologue

  Jacaranda trees in full bloom arched above the street in a lavender blue haze, blocking the glare of the Florida midday sun. A gulf breeze ruffled the lacy branches and rained delicate blossoms like ticker-tape confetti onto the lawns and pavement below.

  Lily Moore relaxed against the luxurious back seat of her son-in-law’s car and smiled. It was a fitting homecoming.

  Beside her, her husband, Talbot, reached for her hand. She could see her happiness reflected in his eyes. Their European honeymoon had ended, but their life together was just beginning. They had a twenty-five-year separation to make up for.

  The car turned onto the street that led to their home, and Talbot squeezed her hand. “Close your eyes. I have a surprise.”

  “You’re going to love it, Mother.” Her daughter, Jasmine, green eyes dancing with excitement, swiveled to face her over the front passenger seat. “No peeking.”

  Lily closed her eyes and issued a silent prayer of thanks for being reunited with her only child. She had missed all but the first three years of Jasmine’s childhood and the rest of her growing up. Now, at twenty-eight, her daughter was a beautiful young woman who would soon make Lily a grandmother.

  Eyes shut tight, she felt the car slow, turn and come to a stop. Talbot released her hand, and she heard his door open, the sound of his footsteps circling the car and the click of the door beside her.

  “You can open your eyes now,” he said.

  She squinted in the brilliant sunlight and took his hand as she climbed from the car. Before her, the lawns of Moore House stretched back to the oaks and the three-story Victorian cottage nestled among the trees. Everything looked…different.

  “Do you like it?” Talbot asked. “I had the tree service thin the oaks, and I hope you approve of the new color.”

  “Approve?” Emotion constricted her voice. “I love it.”

  Her heart swelled with affection for the man she’d loved for almost three decades. Now he had brought her home to Moore House, where he had lived for almost twenty-five years with his first wife, Irene, and he had changed the house as much as he’d changed Lily’s life.

  Gone was the somber brown exterior, replaced by a lovely rich cream. The oppressive oaks had been stripped of Spanish moss and pruned to allow sunlight to warm the building. Moore House, like Lily, had been liberated from its depressing past, and its future, like hers, looked bright and shining.

  As if to make up for all she’d missed, providence had given Talbot and Jasmine back to her. She glanced at her husband, still robust and handsome despite his years. Fate had finally been kind to him, too. He and Irene had been freed of the bondage of their unhappy union, and their sons T.J. and Art had proved their loyalty and competence in helping Talbot run Sinclair and Moore Construction.

  The only dark spot on Lily’s contentment was Talbot’s youngest son Blain, who blamed his father for his mother’s unhappiness and had refused to speak to him since the divorce.

  Lily shook off unpleasant thoughts. She wouldn’t allow Blain’s pouting to spoil her homecoming. Talbot would eventually mend that breach. As far as she was concerned, Talbot could hang the moon.

  Beside her, Rand Sinclair, her son-in-law and Talbot’s business partner, lowered the driver’s window. “Do you want to walk to the house or ride?”

  She inhaled the clear, crisp air of mid-April and of freedom. “We’ll walk. Meet us at the house and stay for lunch.”

  The car pulled away, and Lily looped her arm through Talbot’s. Together they sauntered up the circular drive.

  “Don’t expect any changes inside,” Talbot said. “I’m leaving the interior for you to red
ecorate to your heart’s content.”

  He knew her so well. Nothing would please her more than turning the bleak mansion into a home, their home.

  They climbed the broad steps, crossed the wide porch and stepped into the dark, paneled foyer. Eugenia, the housekeeper Lily had hired before they left for Europe, stepped out of the kitchen at the far end of the hall. “Lunch will be ready in a half hour. Your mail is on the hall table. Several packages, too.”

  “More wedding presents, I’ll bet.” Jasmine entered from the back hall with Rand. “Why don’t you open them while we wait for lunch?”

  Rand gathered several packages and carried them toward the living room. Talbot followed with a large parcel under each arm.

  Feeling like a child at Christmas, Lily read cards of congratulations and opened packages to find a Waterford vase, a Boehm nightingale, a sterling silver candlesnuffer and a linen tablecloth trimmed in Battenburg lace.

  “This is addressed to Mother only.” Jasmine picked up a box, wrapped in wrinkled brown paper and marked with an Orlando return address. “From Leslie Stratton. Who’s that?”

  Talbot shrugged. “She’s not from your side of the family?”

  Jasmine sat beside Lily and placed her arm around her. “You’re looking at our side of the family. Open it, Mother, and solve the mystery.”

  Her curiosity fired, Lily peeled paper off the dress-box-size package and lifted the lid. An envelope lay atop the tissue. She removed the letter and read aloud.

  “My sister sent your wedding announcement from the Dolphin Bay paper, so I know you’re no longer at the mental hospital. My mother, Janet Stratton, was a nurse there until her retirement two years ago. She died last year, but before she passed on, she gave me the package you’d left with her for safekeeping.”

  Lily dropped the paper as if it had burned her fingers and raised her hands to her temples where an incipient headache lurked. “I don’t remember Janet Stratton or giving anyone a package.”

  Jasmine hugged her. “Naturally, you don’t remember everything. Charles Wilcox made certain you were overmedicated all those years so you wouldn’t try to escape and threaten Irene’s marriage to Daddy.”

  Lily frowned at the painful memories. Talbot never would have married Irene if Irene’s brother Charles hadn’t kidnapped Lily and imprisoned her in that hospital. She pushed the unhappy thoughts away. Charles was in the state penitentiary now, and Irene, accompanied by Blain, had moved to a villa in France.

  Lily stared at the package with a sudden sense of foreboding. She didn’t want to look back. She wanted only to go forward. She shoved the box toward Jasmine. “Maybe you should just throw this away.”

  “Are you sure?” her daughter asked.

  “Lily,” Talbot said gently, “whatever’s in there was important enough to smuggle out, away from Charles and his employees. Opening it is your decision, but I’ll toss it, if that’s what you want.”

  She hesitated. Maybe the package held something good from all those years of misery, something positive to look back on, instead of merely wasted years. She drew it toward her again and folded back the first layer of tissue.

  “Now I know how Pandora felt,” she said with a nervous laugh.

  “Don’t worry.” In the chair across from her, Rand, his long legs stretched out before him, flashed a reassuring smile. “No matter what it is, the past is over. You have family to love and protect you now.”

  She nodded. No wonder Jasmine loved him. Next to Talbot, Rand was the most considerate man she’d ever met. She picked up another envelope, addressed to Lily Ross, her maiden name, and yellowed with age. She withdrew the single sheet and began to read. Dizziness assaulted her after the first few words and she thrust the page at Jasmine.

  Her brow furrowed with concern, Jasmine took the sheet and read aloud.

  “Dear Lily,

  Forgive me for not stopping them from taking your baby—”

  “What?” Talbot bolted upright in his chair, and the color drained from his face. He stared at Lily in bewilderment “What baby?”

  Lily opened her mouth to speak, but words wouldn’t come. Her hands fluttered on her lap as if someone else controlled them.

  “Finish the letter, Jasmine.” Talbot rose, moved to the sofa on the other side of Lily and drew her close.

  Jasmine, her face blank with shock, continued.

  “I would have helped you and your baby get away, but Mr. Wilcox threatened me and my family if I ever breathed a word to anyone. I’m doing what you asked me to, though, about keeping your baby’s belongings. I’m packing them away so you can have them back one day. I hope you find your baby. Forgive me.

  Janet Stratton.”

  “A baby.” Lily felt as if all the air had been sucked from her lungs. “How…?”

  Talbot pulled her tighter. “The night you disappeared, we were together—”

  “That brief time with you,” she said, “was my last clear memory before Jasmine found me. But a baby? Even drugged, how could I give birth and not remember?”

  “Your loss of memory isn’t your fault,” Jasmine reassured her, then prodded gently. “Let’s see what’s in the box.”

  With trembling fingers, Lily lifted the last layer of tissue paper. Beneath it lay two tiny white gowns embroidered with pale yellow flowers and French knots. On a card pinned to the garments was her clear but wobbly handwriting: “My baby, born February 18, 1973.”

  She faced Talbot, her cheeks wet with tears. “We have another child, and I don’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl.”

  Talbot took her in his arms, and she pressed her face against the broad expanse of his chest. “Don’t worry, Lily, we’ll find our child. I promise.”

  She nodded but said nothing.

  Her reunion with her daughter and Talbot had taken twenty-five years. How long would it take to find her missing baby?

  Chapter One

  Six weeks later

  Dylan Wade rolled over in bed and grabbed his gun.

  A bumping sound at the back door had awakened him from a deep sleep. Someone was breaking into his house.

  He eased out of bed, drew on a pair of jeans and crept on bare feet to the bedroom door. The intruder was either an idiot or a crackhead on a dangerous high. Who else would break into a house at nine o’clock on a sunny morning, particularly the one house on the street with a green-and-white Dolphin Bay police cruiser parked in the drive?

  A surge of adrenaline banished his exhaustion from his night on patrol. Flattening himself against the wall beside the closed bedroom door, he waited, ready to spring when his unwanted visitor eventually reached his room. He wanted the element of surprise on his side, especially if the intruder had a weapon. Heavy draperies blocked the sun, darkening the bedroom. The burglar’s eyes would take time to adjust, giving Dylan an advantage.

  In the kitchen, the back door opened and banged against the wall. Footsteps pattered across the tile floor, up the hallway and toward the bedroom. Dylan cursed under his breath. The intruder must have cased the house earlier. He seemed to know exactly where he was going.

  With a calm gained from years of experience, Dylan flipped the safety off his service automatic and waited. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the knob of the bedroom door turn. The door flew open, and someone raced into the room, on a beeline toward the bed.

  “Police! Place your hands on your head and turn around slowly.”

  The intruder halted and pivoted toward him with raised hands. “Dylan, thank God, you’re home.”

  At the shock of the familiar female voice, he almost lowered his gun. It was her voice, the voice he caught himself listening for every time he answered his phone.

  But it couldn’t be her. She had refused to speak to him for the last two years.

  He reached across the open doorway and flipped on the overhead light. His ears hadn’t fooled him. Heather Taylor stood beside his bed. She hadn’t changed. If anything, she’d grown more attractive. Her bright
eyes still seemed to pierce his soul, her oval face with high cheekbones, delectable mouth and freckle-spattered nose still glowed with health, and her light-brown hair, cut short and bouncy and streaked golden by the sun, still made him yearn to run his fingers through it.

  He even remembered the chambray dress she wore, calling attention to her tall, willow-slimness with its high waist, long skirt and buttons all the way down the front. He’d once undone those buttons slowly, one after another…

  “Dylan, please—” She dropped her hands to her sides and squinted in the sudden glare of the overhead light.

  “I’ll do the talking.” He had to do something to cover his surprise, to keep his anger from exploding. Old feelings surged, threatening to drive away his anger until he yanked it back again. “Don’t you know that breaking and entering is a crime?”

  She lifted her right hand to display a shiny object. “I didn’t break in. I used your key. But—”

  “Why the back door?”

  His jaw tightened with the effort to hold his temper. For two years, he’d longed to confront her, to ask the questions that kept him awake at night. Now that he had his chance, the unexpected sight of her chased the questions from his mind.

  “Why didn’t you just ring the front doorbell?” The clench of his jaw made speaking difficult.

  She collapsed on the side of his bed as if her legs had given way and lifted her face. Tears filled her eyes, and panic, an emotion he’d never associated with the practical and efficient Heather, twisted her features. He hardened his heart and squelched the desire to take her in his arms. She’d walked out on him without a word, and now, obviously in some kind of trouble, she expected him to bail her out.