Ultimate Fear (Book 2 Ultimate CORE) (CORE Series) (19 page)

“Exactly. But what really bothers me is that you two think this has happened three other times before Elton. Why? What’s the point?”

“People love babies,” Phil’s wife said. When they all turned and stared at her, she lifted a shoulder. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Anyway, we have plenty if you’d like to stay for lunch.”

When Carrie disappeared into the kitchen, Dante looked to Phil. “Carrie might be right.”

Jessica let out a deep sigh. “That’s a scary thought. And if it’s true, that these people want to have a perpetual baby in their lives, how many more kids will end up like Elton?”

At that moment both Elton and Maddy let out squeals of laughter.

“Sounds like lunch is a riot a minute. You’re more than welcome to stay or, if you’d like, I can take you to our police station and you two can look at everything we have on Elton. Photos, clothes, stroller…my captain said to keep the doors open for you.”

“We’d really like to be on the road within the next couple of hours. We have a long drive ahead of us,” Jessica said, moving toward the kitchen. “Just let me say goodbye to Carrie and the kids.”

“There’s a Super 8 at the center of town. It’s a decent place if you need to stay overnight. I know the owner and can reserve you a couple of rooms. I’m sure my captain will approve covering the cost.”

She turned and flashed Dante a ‘no way in hell’ look that bordered on revulsion, then said, “That really won’t be necessary, but thanks.” Then she swiveled and headed into the kitchen.

“If you two end up changing your mind,” Phil began, “just let me know. I’m going to tell my wife what I’m up to and will meet you outside.”

As Dante let himself out of the house, he refused to think about Jessica or how she’d acted repulsed by the idea of being stuck out of town with him. Hell, Phil said he’d reserve
two
rooms for them, which he wouldn’t mind. After already spending six hours in the car with Jessica, he could use a longer break—a solid twelve to fifteen hour break—before having to do it all over again. If they hadn’t been talking about the investigation, they hadn’t talked at all. He’d tried to, but she’d kept shutting him out.

Forcing her from his thoughts, he leaned against the porch railing and shifted his focus to Elton. The kid was a character. Animated, funny and damned smart. He smiled. That thing he did with his fingers when he was trying to describe—

“What are you smiling about?” Jessica asked when she stepped onto Phil’s front porch.

He pushed off the rails and pulled his keys from his pockets. “Dimples.”

Chapter 7

WAYNE FANNED HIMSELF with his ball cap, then flipped his wrist and checked his watch. Dimples had been inside the house for over thirty minutes. He double-checked the time. More like forty.

A cramp seized his calf. He slammed the hat back on his head and tried to flex his foot, but there wasn’t enough room. Cursing, he rubbed the knot and decided he’d had enough of lying in the back seat. Irritated, concerned and melting from the hot sun baking the truck, he sat upright and looked out the window. Because he’d been lying down when Dimples drove the truck up the driveway, he hadn’t had a chance to see exactly where they were. Looking around now, he took in the grove of fruit trees near the front apron of the driveway, the small pond on the other side and then the house. The place wasn’t much, but there was quite a bit of land—something he wouldn’t mind owning himself one day. Yeah, lots of property to grow on, maybe he could build a barn, put in a swimming pool, a nice big deck.

He drew in a deep breath as he pictured Dimples and a little boy swimming in that imaginary pool, and caught the scent of earth and apples hanging on the thick, humid air. Running his tongue along his teeth, he tried to moisten his dry mouth. Dang, he could use something cold to drink. The small cooler Dimples had packed before they’d left their rental and St. Joseph behind was empty and needing to be refilled. Chances were, once they had the baby and were on the road, Dimples wouldn’t let him stop until they’d put plenty of miles between them and the dog breeder’s home. Deciding a piece of gum would have to do for now, he reached into the front seat and opened the glove box. No gum. He checked the compartment under the dash. Empty. Now he’d have to wait on Dimples for a damned piece of gum, too.

Using the hem of his t-shirt, he tilted his cap back and wiped the sweat off his brow. After he reclined in the back seat and rested his arm on the baby’s car seat, the spigot next to the small front stoop snagged his attention. He tried to ignore it, but with his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth and the sweat soaking his clothes, he couldn’t help thinking about quenching his thirst. About how delicious that cool water would taste on his tongue, how it would soothe his parched throat and wash away the dust the hot breeze had been carrying into the truck. As if his body needed to remind him of what it needed, an itch developed in his throat. It tickled and forced a dry cough. He quickly covered his mouth, then decided this was ridiculous. Dimples had had ample time to knock the woman out and grab the baby. The longer they stayed, the greater the chance they’d be caught. Maybe something had gone wrong. Maybe the woman had overpowered Dimples and had already called the police. He could be a sittin’ duck and not even know it.

A damned thirsty sittin’ duck.

Worried, irritated and in need of hydration, he decided enough was enough. He opened the back passenger door. From the moment Dimples had told him about the breeder and the baby, he’d been uncomfortable with her plan. He resented how soon she could go from one child to the next without a care. She had a strange off switch, and once it was hit, she was done. As if the boy they’d loved and cared for hadn’t been a part of their lives for two years. As if she hadn’t held their son, kissed him, dealt with sleepless nights while worrying about the couple of nasty colds Mr. Independent had endured.

God, he missed the boy, but at least he knew he was safe.

Dimples didn’t watch the news—her delicate soul simply couldn’t handle all of the evil in the world and she’d claimed that was basically all one would find during a newscast. Evil doings. No talk of the good God’s children had done, only the bad. He tended to agree, but he’d checked the news channels while Dimples had been in the shower last night, and again this morning when she’d gone out for coffee. One channel had done a short piece on Mr. Independent, showing his cute smile and those big blue eyes…

He let out a sigh and blinked several times to ward off the tears. Like he’d hoped, college kids had found Mr. Independent and now he was safe with the authorities. In time, he’d be back with his real parents, or a nice family would probably adopt him. He’d done right by the boy, better than his Dimples would have.

Did you bring the shovel?

If only she knew. She’d hate him. She’d tell him he was a stupid, sentimental fool. That he was only asking for trouble. He might be sentimental, but he wasn’t stupid or a fool. He also wasn’t a killer.

He swiped at his eyes, then fisted his hands. Dimples had been inside the house for too long. While his woman could chat up a storm with most strangers, she wouldn’t be foolish enough to waste that kind of time now. Something had to have gone wrong. He scrubbed a damp hand down his sweaty face, then eyed the spigot again.

Opening the door, he stepped onto the gravel-dirt driveway. He wouldn’t risk prison for a drink of water from an outdoor faucet, but he also couldn’t stand the thought of being separated from Dimples because she’d put too much risk into having
this
baby for their own. If the woman had overpowered her and had already called the police, his wife needed rescuing. If he was wrong and Dimples just hadn’t made her move yet, well…he’d worry about that and how Dimples would make him pay for screwing up her plan later.

With long strides, he quickly made it to the front stoop. Using his t-shirt, he opened the screen door, then he tried the door knob. Locked.

Telling himself that made sense, that the dog breeder wouldn’t leave her house unlocked with her and the baby the only occupants, he ran around the side of the garage to the backyard. The land on the back of the property stretched far and had a large steel barn—nothing like the wooden one he’d build, along with another pond and acres of trees. He looked toward the back of the house and noticed a few wooden steps leading from a door out onto the grass. After giving the yard a final glance, and confident no one was watching him, he ran to the steps. The patio door was a slider, which he particularly liked because it let in a lot of sun, and something he and Dimples hadn’t had since living in Phoenix. When he reached the wooden steps, he edged closer to the glass door and peeked inside. From his angle, he caught sight of a breakfast nook that housed a four piece dining set and hutch, but nothing more.

He leaned against the cream-colored vinyl siding. Maybe he should go to the barn and check that area. If that was where the dogs were kept, could be Dimples and the woman were still there.

But for over forty minutes?

Not a chance.

Knowing he was going against Dimples and her plan, knowing he could mess up the entire situation, the protective husband in him took over. He’d rather deal with her wrath than prison. If the woman had outsmarted and outmaneuvered Dimples, his wife would need his help.

And there was always another baby they could take.

Decision made, his heart racing with worry over the unknown, he held his breath, reached over and nudged the patio door handle with his forearm. When the glass slid an inch, he released the air from his lungs and grew more confident. He moved closer to the door and opened it a few more inches, then a few more, until the door stood open wide enough for him to slip through.

He hovered outside the threshold, held his breath again and listened. He heard a grunt. A woman’s grunt.

Dimples? The dog breeder?

Despite the heat, a chill coated his skin. Fear made his head light, made it difficult to breathe.

At that moment, nothing but his wife mattered. He filled his lungs with air, filled his heart with determination and quietly slipped inside.

“Oh, my God.” He gagged and quickly covered his mouth with the crook of his elbow. “What have you—” Violent spasms in his throat and stomach forced him to double over. Retching, he used his knees for support and tried his damnedest to gain control of his body.

“What have you done?” he cried, his heart breaking, everything good in his world suddenly turning to shit. Dimples jerked her head toward him. Blood was smeared on her face, as if someone had used her cheeks for finger painting. It coated her t-shirt, her jeans and her…hands.

Oh, God. Her hands.

They were inside the woman lying on the floor. Inside her swollen stomach. The thick flesh surrounded Dimples’s wrists. When he finally met his wife’s gaze, utter terror caused his knees to buckle. He dropped to the tile, cracking his knees in the process. The pain functioned as a warning that this was real and not a nightmare he could ever wake from.

“I…help me,” Dimples said on a frustrated sob. “I can’t get him out.”

His first instinct was to run. To grab his wife, rush her to the truck and haul her ass out of there. But if the woman and baby died, they’d have gone from kidnapping to murder. They would be
murderers
. A label he couldn’t have blackening his soul.

Ever
.

Not even for Dimples.

He side-stepped the puddle of blood creating a stream. “Is she alive?” he asked and crouched next to the woman.

“Who cares? We need to save the baby. He’s stuck and I don’t understand why.”

Holding the woman’s wrist, he checked for a pulse. Faint. “She’s still alive.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Dimples cried. “Please, help me save my baby. God gave him to us and we can’t disappoint Him. Please, Wayne.”

God hadn’t given them this baby, He had taken away theirs and had turned Dimples into an obsessed woman. “We need to call 911 and leave. Let the paramedics save them.”

“No,” she shouted. “This baby is mine. And they’ll both be dead before anyone can save them.
We
have to save
him
. Now help me.”

He stood and took a step back, shaking his head. “This is wrong.” He stared at the poor woman. If not for Dimples, she could’ve had the baby the right way. In a hospital, surrounded by doctors and nurses. Instead she lay prone on the tiles in a puddle of her own blood. “This is
so
wrong.”

“Stop acting righteous and help me.”

If only she could see and understand how wrong she was, that she was sick. That she needed help. “This ain’t right. We can’t—”

She ripped her hands from the woman’s stomach. Blood flowed profusely from the slice along her distended belly, as well as internal organs he couldn’t name. His throat constricted, then heaved. The acrid taste of bile now filled his parched mouth. He fought back the urge to vomit, worried about leaving any evidence behind, and quickly looked to the woman’s face. Pale, yet serene, she looked on the verge of death. He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t allow them to lose their freedom and be separated. No matter the wrong Dimples had done, he loved her and didn’t know how to exist without her.

“Well, if you’re not gonna help me,” she said, and stood. “Then I guess I’ll do it my daggone self.” She started opening kitchen drawers, the blood coating her gloved hands dripping and smearing everywhere she touched. “This should do it.” She held a carving knife high, then knelt between the woman’s legs.