“I’m not shutting you out. I’ll call as soon as I learn anything.”
She raised her chin in that determined way of hers and shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You need to be home in case Smythe calls.”
“I forwarded the calls to my cell phone. If he calls, I can answer wherever I am.” She dipped a hand into her pocket and pulled out a phone as an offer of proof. “I know you don’t want to have anything to do with me, Dex. For God’s sake, you didn’t before you knew I didn’t tell you about Patrick. But I can’t just sit at home knowing that monster has him. Surely you can understand that.”
He could understand far too much about how Alyson must be feeling, even after all this time. That was the problem. And it would be even more of a problem if Smythe had figured that out. And from all indications, he had. “If you stay home, I can arrange for protection. The police can turn your house into a regular fortress. If you don’t, you’ll make things much tougher.”
“Protection? For me?”
“Yes, for you. You said Smythe used chloroform on you when he broke into your house tonight.”
“Yes.”
“I’m betting he was also carrying rope.”
He could tell by her expression the answer was yes. She shook her head hard, her auburn hair lashing her cheeks. Obviously she’d guessed where he was going. And she didn’t want to hear it.
Tough. She had to face facts. He had. “Smythe isn’t a kidnapper, Alyson. He isn’t a man who targets children, either. He rapes women. He was planning to get his revenge on me by attacking you.”
Though she seemed to know what was coming, a shudder still shook her.
He fought the need to rush to her side again, to encircle her with his arm and let her lean against him. “Are you okay?”
Gripping the chair until her knuckles turned white, she nodded. “So you think he came after me and stumbled on Patrick.”
“That’s what I’m guessing. He must have figured out Patrick was my child, and that kidnapping him would present an even greater opportunity for revenge.”
“But if that’s true, why didn’t he rape me, too?”
“Do you remember what he did to those other women?”
She pulled back in her chair as if flinching from her own thoughts. “He kidnapped them.”
Dex nodded. “He took them to a private place—a place no one would discover them—and he raped them for hours. His last victim was attacked for days. I’m sure he wanted to do the same to you, but he couldn’t handle kidnapping both you and Patrick at the same time.”
“So he settled for Patrick.”
“For now.” Dex looked her straight in the eye. He hated being this blunt, but Alyson had to face the facts. Smythe had Patrick, and she was next. And who knew what other targets Smythe had on his list? No one or nothing Dex had ever cared about was safe.
“But how did he know about us, Dex? We didn’t exactly announce our relationship from the rooftops. How would he know that you and I were once involved? That Patrick was your child?”
“That’s one of the things I’m going to find out.”
Straightening her spine, she set her chin. “So where do we start?”
“We keep you safe. I’ll post officers outside your house twenty-four seven. And I’ll look into getting you an alarm system. I’ll keep you updated on everything I learn. I promise.”
“No. I’m not going to stay trapped in my house. I don’t care what Smythe is planning. I have to do something to get my baby back.” Tears spiked her lashes, but her voice carried a note of determination.
“Alyson—”
“I mean it, Dex. If you don’t let me help you, I’ll figure something out on my own.”
The thought of Alyson by his side made his shoulders ache like a son of a bitch. But he couldn’t let her walk around without protection.
Thrusting himself to his feet, Dex paced across the room. Damn Smythe and his sick revenge. Damn the governor and his pardons. And damn Alyson for failing to tell him he had a son until the baby was kidnapped.
But most of all, damn him for letting her latest betrayal wound him all over again.
He strode for the door without looking at her. He couldn’t. Looking at her would only make him want to take her into his arms again when he would be far better off to run in the other direction. “There are fresh sheets in the guest room closet. We’ll leave for the prison where Smythe was incarcerated first thing in the morning.”
LOCATED IN GRANT COUNTY, a skip and a jump from the Mississippi River, the Grant Correctional Institute loomed on one of the few plateaus in an area of sharp hills and sweeping gorges—Wisconsin’s unglaciated region. Alyson had always thought the area was beautiful. But today she hardly noticed the scenery whizzing past the car window. She hardly noticed anything except the man sitting next to her, his hands gripping the steering wheel.
Tall and fit, he looked every bit as appealing as the first time she’d met him. The pull of attraction had reached into her chest and grabbed her by the heart when her father had introduced her to his protégé, the newest assistant district attorney in the office. But it wasn’t until she’d talked to him later that night, until she’d seen his intelligence and humor and idealism that she’d lost her heart.
And she still hadn’t recovered it. Of course now it was bloody and wounded. Damaged goods. As was she. Especially in Dex’s eyes.
No matter what had happened between them, she could never regret their time together. She couldn’t even regret her shattered heart. Because if it weren’t for Dex, she wouldn’t have Patrick. And any kind of pain was worth enduring for one moment of holding her little boy in her arms.
Patrick. Her arms ached to hold him. When she’d awakened this morning, she’d felt more alone than the day her father died. Even the months of hiding her pregnancy, going through childbirth and waking at night to care for Patrick hadn’t been as hard. Now Patrick was gone. Now she had no one. And no way of ensuring that her baby was safe and fed and cared for.
She focused on the road ahead. “What are we looking for at the prison?”
“Someone helped Smythe smuggle his blood out. That’s the only way it could have ended up under that woman’s fingernails—the woman who claims she was raped.”
“So we check the prison sign-in sheet?”
“And phone logs. I want to see who he’s been talking to.”
“I assume you’ve questioned the alleged rape victim?”
“The police talked to her when she reported the rape. But she disappeared right after your lab discovered the blood was a match with Smythe’s. Area sheriffs’ departments have been looking for her ever since. That leaves only the person who smuggled Smythe’s blood out of prison.”
“Maybe that person was her. What was her name?”
“Connie Rasula. And it’s doubtful she did the smuggling. The police found nothing to tie her to Smythe. And they looked hard, believe me.”
She could imagine. No one in law enforcement liked to be thrown a curve ball like the one they’d been tossed. If they couldn’t clear up the question about Smythe’s DNA double, DNA evidence could be called into question in courtrooms across the country. But to her, that possibility paled in comparison to the prospect of never seeing her son again. “So we find out who visited him.”
Dex nodded, his gaze