hand trembled slightly as she set the teacup back onto the saucer.
“Emma,” he said quietly. “I have to ask you something, and I want you to be honest.”
Her gaze met his, and she nodded, although she fidgeted with the afghan Miguel had draped around her shoulders. “I told you all I saw.”
“It’s not that,” he said gruffly.
Her eyes softened as she watched the baby, indicating how much she loved her nephew.
“Emma, who is Jack’s father?”
Emma bit down on her bottom lip and glanced away.
“The truth,” he said, knowing if Aspen had confided in anyone it would have been her cousin. When Emma was a teenager, her mother’s abusive boyfriend had set fire to the house, killing himself and Emma’s mother. Emma had moved in with Aspen and her mother, Rose. After that, the girls had been more like sisters than cousins.
“I don’t know,” she said in a low voice. “Aspen never told me.”
He arched a brow, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Are you sure? You’re not keeping some secret?”
Miguel squared his shoulders and draped a protective arm around Emma. “If she says she doesn’t know, she doesn’t.”
“It’s important,” Dylan said, his throat thick. “Was she dating someone?”
Emma frowned. “Kurt Lightfoot, a builder from the reservation, was interested in her. They went out a few times. But…I’m not sure he fathered the baby.” She hesitated. “He certainly hasn’t claimed paternal rights.”
“Where are you going with this?” Miguel asked. “Are you thinking that Jack’s father might have been the one who attacked Aspen? That it wasn’t like we suspected, that Boyd Perkins and Sherman Watts tried to kill her because she saw them dump Julie’s body?”
Dylan hissed between clenched teeth. “I’m just considering every angle. And knowing Jack’s father is important.”
“Why is it so important to you?” Emma asked with odd twitch of her lips that made him wonder if she had a sixth sense about this, too.
He traced a finger over Jack’s cheek, then decided that Emma might confide more if he came clean. “Because I might be the father.”
Surprise flickered in Miguel’s eyes, although Emma gave him a sympathetic look. “I honestly don’t know,” she said gently. “Aspen simply said that the baby’s father wasn’t in the picture. I assumed that he didn’t want to be and didn’t push her on the subject. It seemed to upset her too much.”
Dylan’s jaw snapped tight with the effort not to defend himself. He would have wanted to be in the picture. And if he discovered Jack was his, Aspen wouldn’t get rid of him, either. Above all things, Dylan valued family and believed in a father’s duty to take care of his children.
“You and Aspen?” Miguel asked.
Dylan gave a clipped nod. “The timing is right. We met in Vegas when I’d just come off that serial-killer case.” God, the images of the dead Ute girls Frank Turnbull had killed still haunted him.
“Aunt Rose had just died then,” Emma said quietly.
Dylan nodded. “I guess we both needed someone.”
And he needed Aspen now and so did her baby…Possibly their baby.
Dammit, where was she?
Emma said she was in danger. Had Perkins or Watts found her?
Another possibility, one they hadn’t considered, nagged at him.
If he wasn’t the father, who was? Jack had been in that car when Aspen had crashed. He could have died, too.
If another man had fathered the little boy, had he tried to kill Aspen to keep his paternity a secret?
Dylan’s cell phone cut into the tense silence in the room, jarring Jack from sleep. He whimpered, and Dylan reluctantly handed him to Emma and connected the call.
“Acevedo speaking.”
“Dylan, it’s Tom Ryan. Listen, we just caught a break.”
Dylan’s pulse pounded. “What?”
“I’m at the Bureau now, and we received a fax from a women’s shelter in Mexican Hat. It looks like we’ve found Aspen Meadows.”
The blood roared through Dylan’s veins. Trembling with relief, he muttered a silent prayer of thanks and crossed himself. “Is she all right?”
“She’s alive. According to the sister I spoke with, she was brought in with injuries and has been healing there.”
Fear gripped him again. “What kind of injuries?”
“I’m not sure. We didn’t go into it. But I thought you might want to go to Mexican Hat and talk to her.”
“Thanks. I will.” In a brief moment of emotion, he’d confided in Tom that he had been involved with Aspen, that finding her was personal.
“I need to call Emma and tell her that we found her cousin.”
“I’m with Emma and Miguel right now,” Dylan said. “I’ll let her know, then I’m on my way to Mexican Hat.”
He disconnected the call, and turned to see Emma and his brother waiting with anticipation.
“They found Aspen?” Emma asked.
He nodded. “She’s at a women’s shelter in Mexican Hat.”
“Thank God.” Emma sagged in relief, although a second later, her nose wrinkled in confusion as she rocked Jack. “But if she’s alive, why hasn’t she called any of us? Why didn’t she come back for Jack? She loved this baby more than anything in the world.”
Dylan gritted his teeth. “I don’t know. Only Aspen can tell us that. I’m going to bring her home.”
“You want me to go with you?” Miguel asked.
Dylan shook his head and glanced at the baby. “No. Take a DNA swab from Jack and send it to the lab. And stick close to Jack and Emma. If Aspen is still in danger, her son might be, too.”
Miguel agreed and Dylan rushed to the door, then outside to his sedan, worry knotting his stomach. Had Aspen been injured so badly she couldn’t contact Emma? Had she been trying to protect her son by not returning?
He started the engine and raced away from Emma’s house on the outskirts of Kenner City, anxious for answers.
If Jack was his son, he wanted to know why in the hell she hadn’t trusted him with the truth. Not that he’d tried to contact her…
The little boy’s baby blue eyes flashed into his head, and he grimaced. Jack had to be his—he knew it in his gut.
But as that possibility sank in, guilt assailed him.
If he’d been with Aspen and the baby, he could have protected them.
“ACCORDING TO THE FBI AGENT who phoned, your name is Aspen Meadows,” Sister Margaret said.
Aspen clenched her hands together, weighing the name on her tongue. “Aspen…” Yes, that sounded right. Familiar.
Yet a sense of dread filled her as she waited for more information. “What else did he tell you?”
Sister Margaret stroked her arms to soothe her. “Just that your car was found crashed near the San Juan River, and that you’ve been missing for nine weeks. He’s sending an agent here to talk to you and take you