His Best Friend's Baby

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

About The Author

Dedication

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

Copyright

Mallory Kane credits her love of books to her mother, a librarian, who taught her that books are a precious resource and should be treated with loving respect. Her father and grandfather were steeped in the Southern tradition of oral history, and could hold an audience spellbound for hours with their storytelling skills. Mallory aspires to be as good a storyteller as her father.

Mallory lives in Mississippi with her computer-genius husband, their two fascinating cats and, at current count, seven computers. She loves to hear from readers. You can write to her at mallory@mallorykane.com.

For Michael, for the usual reasons.

Prologue

The cold rain beat down on the white roses that blanketed Bill Vick’s coffin, turning them yellow and soggy. The canopy flapped and creaked in the wind.

A dozen or so people had braved the weather to attend the graveside service, but Matthew Parker saw only one—Aimee Vick, his best friend’s widow.

From his vantage point, several dozen feet away and partially hidden by trees, Matt could barely see the strands of brown hair that had escaped from beneath her hat to blow across her pale face.

Aimee didn’t notice. She stood stiffly, her arms folded protectively across her tummy, nodding and smiling sadly as people filed by, offering their condolences one more time before they headed home.

Matt pushed his fists deeper into his pockets and hunched his shoulders against the bone-deep chill that shuddered through him. A chill that had nothing to do with the cold April wind or the freezing rain that poured off the brim of his Stetson.

Three days before, he’d done the two most difficult things he’d ever done in his life. He’d brought Bill’s body home to Sundance, Wyoming, and he’d faced Bill’s wife and tried to explain how a weekend adventure had turned into tragedy.

How, in the blink of an eye, she was widowed, and her unborn baby would never know his father.

Her utter shock and disbelief had been agonizing to watch, but he’d stood there, needing to see it. Just as he did now. He needed to share her grief, her pain.

Aimee wiped her cheek with a gloved finger, and bowed her head for an instant.

Matt’s eyes stung. He blinked and looked at his watch. He needed to leave now. His flight back to the tiny border province of Mahjidastan was scheduled to leave in an hour.

For a few seconds, he debated whether he should speak to her. But he quelled the notion as soon as it surfaced. Seeing him would only hurt her more.

He’d known Aimee nearly as long as he’d known Bill, which was most of his life. He’d kidded Bill about not deserving her. She was generous and kind, and forgiving to a fault. She gave everyone the benefit of the doubt, until they proved they didn’t deserve it.

Three days ago, Matt had proven he didn’t deserve her forgiveness. She hadn’t said it, but the look in her eyes had spoken louder than words.

If not for him, Bill would still be alive. He’d be safe at home with his wife, awaiting the birth of their son.

Bill’s death was his fault.

Chapter One

A year later

THURSDAY 0900 HOURS

Matt Parker stepped outside Irina Castle’s ranch house, the headquarters for Black Hills Search and Rescue in Sundance, Wyoming, and headed for the helipad a few hundred yards to the east. He lifted his head and took a deep breath of crisp, fresh Wyoming air.

The day before, for the first time in a year, he’d set foot on American soil, on Wyoming soil. He was back home, where he belonged. He loved the Black Hills. Even though they’d tried to kill him and his three best friends twenty years ago, he loved them. They sustained him.

He’d done his best to track down any rumors of Americans in the remote mountain province of Mahjidastan, which was located in a disputed border area shared by Afghanistan, Pakistan and China. His objective had been to find Rook Castle, Irina’s husband. But ultimately, he’d failed, as had BHSAR specialist Aaron Gold before him. And now Irina had called off the search.

As he circled the Bell 429 helicopter that was BHSAR Specialist Deke Cunningham’s baby, another fellow specialist, Brock O’Neill, appeared in the doorway of the hangar.

“Parker,” he said as Matt approached. The terse greeting was typical of the ex-Navy SEAL. He held out his hand and cocked his head—the only indication Matt had ever seen that the patch over his left eye bothered him.

Matt shook his hand. “Brock. How’re you doing?”

“Hmph. Watch out. Your buddy’s in a mood.” Brock broke the handshake and headed toward the ranch house.

Matt suppressed a smile as he continued toward the hangar. For Brock, that was a warm greeting.

When he stepped through the open door, Deke was leaning back in his desk chair with his feet propped up, tossing a steel bearing from hand to hand. A small TV was tuned to a morning news show, its sound muted.

“Hey, Deke,” Matt said. “Playing catch with yourself?”

Deke’s feet hit the floor and he set the silver ball on his desk. “That goober I just hired overtightened a bolt and ruined this ball bearing. Brock offered to take him out for me.”

Matt laughed.

“How’re you doing?”

Matt took Deke’s hand. “Been a while. Can’t say I’m glad to see you.”

“I know.”

“Man, I hate this,” Matt said, nodding back toward the ranch house. “The place feels like a funeral home. I didn’t see Irina. How’s she holding up?”

Deke shook his head. “She’s trying to act like she’s fine, but she’s not. She’s in bad shape.” Deke wiped a hand over his face and then pushed his shaggy hair back. “She’s in town this morning, talking to her accountant again.”

“So it’s true?” Matt asked. “All her funds are wiped out?”

Deke nodded. “All her personal funds. Damn Rook for not signing everything over to her when they got married. I’d like to kill him—” Deke stopped and clamped his jaw.

Matt snorted. “Too late. But it’s not like he knew he was going to die.”

“No?” Deke’s brows lowered and his blue eyes turned black. “He spent his whole life stepping in front of bullets for other people. He had to figure one would hit him sooner or later.”

“I don’t get it. She’s his wife—widow. Why doesn’t she get his money?”

“It’s all about the suspicious nature of his death. Just because they don’t have a body—greedy bastards.”

“Hang on a minute,” Matt said as he glanced at the TV. “Turn that up.”

Deke scooped up the remote control and tossed it to him. “What is it?”

“Check out the pink dress. It’s Margo Vick.”

“Bill’s mother? Opening another Vick Resort Hotel?”

“Not this time. That’s FBI Special Agent Aaron Schiff standing next to her.” Matt hit the volume control.

“—I am personally offering a reward for any information leading to the kidnapper.”

Kidnapper. Alarm pierced Matt’s chest as Margo yielded the microphone to the FBI special agent. Among the dark suits, her brightly colored dress drew all eyes to her.

“We plan to hold press conferences on a regular basis, and we’ll update the media as we have more information,” Special Agent Schiff said. “Meanwhile, please let us do our job. Our primary concern is getting Mrs. Vick’s grandson back home safe and sound.”

“It’s Aimee’s baby. He’s been kidnapped.” Matt sat on the edge of a folding chair and propped his elbows on his knees, listening as Schiff answered questions from reporters. The cameras pulled back to reveal the front of the Vick mansion, located just outside Casper, Wyoming. Besides Schiff and Margo, several uniformed police officers stood on the marble steps, along with a couple of men in suits.

Matt’s gaze zeroed in on a pale face behind Bill’s mother. It was Aimee, dressed in something dark that blended with the suits and uniforms. Her eyes were huge and strands of hair blew across her face.

“There’s Aimee.” He didn’t take his eyes off her until the camera switched back to Schiff. Then he shot up off the chair and paced, rubbing his thumb across his lower lip.

“There’s something more going on here,” he said as dread pressed on his chest like a weight.

“What—with the kidnapping?”

“About a month ago, my journal disappeared from my room.”

Deke frowned and picked up the ball bearing again. He tossed it back and forth. “You mean on your laptop?”

Matt shook his head. With every passing second, pressure in his chest grew. “I keep notes in a small leather journal just for my use. I write my reports to Irina from my notes. You know, rumors of Americans in the area, anything I can glean about what Novus Ordo or his terrorist friends are up to, lists of expenses.”

“You think it was stolen?”

He nodded.

“Okay. How does this have anything to do with the grandbaby of one of the wealthiest women in Wyoming being kidnapped?”

Matt glanced back at the TV, but there was a commercial on. “Work stuff wasn’t all that was in the journal.”

He turned toward the window, letting his gaze roam over the jagged peaks in the distance. “It’s been a year since Bill died, and I haven’t talked to her.”

Deke didn’t comment.

Matt rubbed his lip. “I just couldn’t face her. So I was trying to compose a letter. A way to—tell her how sorry I am.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Novus knows we’ve been searching for any clue that Rook survived his sniper attack. I’ve been followed ever since I got over there. I’m sure whoever stole my journal was sent by Novus, so now—”

“Now he knows how you feel about Aimee,” Deke supplied. He set the ball bearing down and sat up straight.

“How I feel—?” Matt frowned. “Well, yeah. He knows about her baby and about me being William’s godfather. And now Irina’s stopped looking for Rook. What if Novus thinks she stopped because I found him?”

“And what? You think Novus had Aimee’s baby kidnapped—”

“To get to me.”

Deke blew out a long breath. “Kind of a stretch. Why wouldn’t he have grabbed you before now if he thought you knew something?”

“Think about it. I’ve been in Mahjidastan for the past year, searching for information about the only man on the earth who could identify Novus Ordo. And before me Aaron was there for a year. There hasn’t been a day since Rook disappeared off that boat that a BHSAR specialist hasn’t been looking for him. Suddenly, Irina pulls me out and doesn’t replace me. Novus didn’t have a chance to get his hands on me. I left within four hours of Irina’s phone call.”

Deke gave a short, sharp laugh. “That’s quite a conspiracy theory. But it makes sense—sort of. What now?”

Matt met Deke’s gaze and set his jaw. “If Novus Ordo has taken Aimee Vick’s baby to try and get his hands on me to interrogate me about Rook, I’m going to make it easy for him.”

SO FAR EVERYTHING was working well. Not bad for a plan that had been put together in less than twenty-four hours.

The Vick baby was already in safe hands. The FBI was on the case. And, most important, Parker was acting exactly as predicted. He was inserting himself right into the middle of the kidnapping investigation.

A warm sense of satisfaction spread through him. It was immaterial whether Rook Castle was alive or dead. He had a larger goal. And finally, it was in sight.

He looked at his watch. Almost time. He had a telephone call to make.

THURSDAY 1430 HOURS

AIMEE VICK PACED back and forth across the living room of her mother-in-law’s house. The room was crawling with FBI special agents, uniformed police officers, and technicians trailing spools of wire everywhere.

She looked at the grandfather clock for the hundredth time—or the thousandth. Two-thirty p.m. It had been eight hours. Eight miserable, terrifying hours without her baby.

When she’d woken up this morning and discovered that William was gone, she’d have sworn she couldn’t survive eight hours without her baby. But she was still alive, and still rational—barely.

William Matthew was only seven months old, and she’d never spent a night without him. Hardly even an hour. He was her anchor, her life since her husband’s death.

She didn’t notice that someone else had come in the front door until she heard her name called.

She turned and found herself face-to-face with Matt Parker, her husband’s best friend, her baby’s godfather, and the last man on earth she expected to see.

“Matt,” she croaked. Her voice was hoarse and sounded harsh to her ears.

The last time she’d seen him was a year ago, when he’d brought her husband’s body home. He looked just as stricken as he had that day.

Her first impulse was to run to him and hug him. But she didn’t. Her emotions were already in turmoil, and seeing Matt made things even more confusing.

She should be furious at him. After all, he hadn’t shown up for Bill’s funeral, nor for William Matthew’s christening, even though she’d honored Bill’s request to name him as William’s godfather.

She’d spent a good portion of the past year filled with anger. At Matt for taking Bill skydiving. At Bill for going off and dying. At herself for not putting her foot down and refusing to let him go.

Matt looked down and rubbed the back of his neck. After a few seconds, he raised his head enough to meet her gaze. “Aimee, I’m so sorry about your baby. I’ve talked with Special Agent Schiff. He’s agreed to let me help with the investigation—if you’ll agree.”

Aimee clutched at her abdomen, where the hollow nausea that had been her constant companion ever since Bill died was growing, threatening to cut off her breath.

“How did you get here?” She shook her head. “I mean, it just happened this morning—”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m here. Will you let me help?”

Aimee looked at Special Agent Schiff, who nodded at her reassuringly. “I can’t believe—I haven’t seen you since—”

Matt’s gaze faltered. “I know. I’m sorry, Aimee.”

Aimee started when Margo laid a hand on her shoulder—a heavy hand. “Aimee, dear, why don’t you get a glass of water?”

“Thank you, Margo, but I’m not thirsty.” She tried to step away from her mother-in-law’s grasp, but Margo held on.

“I’d like to speak to Matthew alone for a moment.”

Aimee rubbed her temple, where a headache was gathering. She knew what Margo planned to do. She was going to tell Matt to leave. She could practically see the wheels turning in her mother-in-law’s head. A lot of people in Casper knew that Matt had been with Bill when he died, and Margo didn’t like the Vicks being the subject of gossip.

Appearances. They’d always been her main concern. The magenta suit she wore attested to that. Only Aimee and the owner of Margo’s favorite dress shop knew that her first act upon hearing of her grandson’s kidnapping was to have the suit rushed over in time for the press conference.

“Anything you have to say, you can say in front of me, Margo.” Aimee stiffened her back and met her mother-in-law’s gaze.

“If you’re sure, dear.” Margo turned to Matt. “Aimee is terribly distraught. I’d rather she not be upset further. Perhaps you should leave.”

Matt raised his brows and gazed at Margo steadily. “I have every right to be here. William Matthew is my godson.”

A godson he’d never seen, Aimee thought. To make matters worse, Margo had spent the year since Bill’s death trying to coax Aimee to relinquish control of William’s future to her.

I have the resources and the connections, dear. You don’t.

Grief and fear and anger balled up inside Aimee, until she felt as if she were going to explode. She had to bite her tongue to keep from lashing out at both of them.

Aimee had loved Bill, but the six years of their marriage had been a tug-of-war between him and his mother. Now she was in the same position, standing between Margo and Matt.

“William is my child,” she blurted out. “This is my decision.”

Every eye in the room turned their way.

“Aimee,” Margo said warningly as her fingers tightened on Aimee’s shoulder. “Don’t make a scene.”

Aimee wasn’t sure how she felt about Matt showing up after a year—almost to the day—since Bill’s death, but she didn’t doubt his ability. As a weather expert and survival specialist, rescuing the innocent was his specialty.

If anyone could save her child, Matt could.

“If Special Agent Schiff agrees, I want Matt here. It makes sense for him to be involved. He’s trained in rescue and recov—” Aimee’s throat closed on the word recovery.

“Rescue,” she said as firmly as she could. No crying. She hadn’t cried yet, and she didn’t plan to start now. Crying never helped anything. She was afraid that if she started she wouldn’t be able to stop.

Margo’s dark eyes snapped with irritation as she drew in a sharp breath. Then, with a quick glance around the room, she consciously relaxed her face and nodded.

“Of course,” she said stiffly. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.” Her grip on Aimee’s shoulder loosened and turned into an awkward pat.

The shrill ring of a cell phone split the air. Aimee jumped.

It was him. The kidnapper.

She whirled, looking for her purse, and then remembered that the FBI had forwarded her cell to Margo’s house phone. At that instant, the landline rang.

Special Agent Schiff motioned her over to the table, where wires and headphones and computers appeared to be piled haphazardly.

“Mrs. Vick—” Schiff said in a cautionary tone. “Remember what we discussed?”

She was going to have to talk to the man who’d taken her baby. Her stomach turned upside down. As she approached, a computer technician handed two sets of headphones to Schiff. Schiff, in turn, reached past her to hand a set to Matt. Then he donned the remaining set himself.

“Wait to see what he says,” Schiff cautioned her. “Once he starts talking ransom, you insist it be delivered by a family friend—Parker. Don’t let him bully you. Don’t give in to any demands. You are in control, not him. Got it?”

Aimee had never felt less in control in her life. Her baby was in the hands of the monster on the other end of the phone, and she was being forced to bargain for his life. The phone rang again, the piercing noise sending terror slicing through her.

“On my count,” Schiff whispered. “Pick up on three.”

She nodded jerkily. Her throat was too dry to swallow. Her hands were shaking so much she wasn’t sure she could hold on to the phone.

Schiff nodded at the computer tech, glanced at Matt, then held up a finger. “One,” he mouthed to her.

A second finger went up. “Two.”

Aimee bit her lip and reached for the phone. Matt stepped closer.

Schiff held up three fingers. “Three.” He nodded.

She picked up the phone, her other hand pressed to her chest. “Hello?” she croaked.

“Hello, Aimee. Hello, Special Agent Schiff, and whoever else is listening.”

Aimee stiffened at the kidnapper’s menacing tone. At the same time, Matt’s shoulder brushed hers. Coiled tension radiated from his body like heat. He rested a hand lightly on the small of her back. Somehow, his touch gave her courage.

“What have you done with my baby?” she cried. “I have to know if he’s okay.”

“Your baby is perfectly safe for now,” the harsh voice said. “It’s up to you to keep him safe. Let’s talk business.”

“What do you want?” she asked tightly.

“Money, of course,” the man replied. “Are you listening, Schiff? Because I will only say this once. I want a million dollars in hundreds. Don’t give me any problem about the money. I am aware of who your mother-in-law is.” The man’s voice was cold and hard. “I don’t want to hear excuses about needing time to get the cash together. Just do it.”

Aimee felt helpless and lost. She could hardly make sense of what he was saying. She took a deep breath. “Let me talk to my baby,” she begged. “He must be so scared. He needs to hear my voice.”

“Shut up. You’re not giving the orders. I am. Now here’s where the exchange will take place.”

He rattled off some numbers that meant nothing to Aimee. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Matt nod at Schiff.

“Got it?” the man snapped.

Schiff sent her a nod.

“Y-yes,” she said.

“Tomorrow at 1500 hours. Aimee, if you want to see your baby again, you will deliver the money.”

Matt jerked. He shook his head fiercely at Schiff.

“I—I don’t know,” she stammered, her heart stuck in her throat.

“Family friend,” Schiff mouthed.

“Wait. I can’t come alone,” she said as strongly as she could. “I—I’ll need to care for William Matthew. I need to bring a—a family friend—”

“Schiff?” the kidnapper said. “What did I tell you? I will not say it again. Make it happen.”

The line went dead.

“Dammit,” Matt spat.

Aimee’s throat closed and her eyes stung with tears. She swallowed them as the phone dropped from her numb fingers. “What is it? What’s wrong?” she asked.

Schiff didn’t answer her. “Give me those coordinates,” he told the computer tech, who repeated the numbers.

“You said you’re an expert in weather and survival,” Schiff said to Matt. “Know where that is?”

“That latitude and longitude puts it north of Sundance,” Matt muttered. He pulled a small device out of his pocket and pressed buttons. “It’s about halfway up Ragged Top Mountain. Rough terrain. Plus we’ve got a late-winter storm building. Could dump a foot or more of snow before it’s done.”

He turned toward Margo. “Isn’t Ragged Top where your husband’s hunting cabin was? I think Bill and I went up there a few times.”

Margo nodded stiffly. “That’s right. No one’s been there in years. I don’t understand. What did the kidnapper say?”

“He’s demanding that we bring the money to a location on the south side of Ragged Top.”

“South—? That’s—” Margo stopped, frowning. “Oh, dear.” Her face drained of color.

It was only the second time Aimee had ever seen Margo shaken. The first was when she was told her son had died. Maybe her mother-in-law wasn’t as cold and insensitive as she’d always appeared.

“What?” Matt demanded. “It’s what?”

The woman blinked. “Nothing. It’s just—it’s so hard to get up there. Especially this time of year. I’d have thought—I mean how’s he going to keep William safe up there?”

“I’ll tell you how,” Matt said. “He knows the area. I’d bet money on it, judging by the way he rattled off those coordinates. He knows Aimee can’t go by herself.”

Schiff raised his eyebrows. “What about you? Can you do it?”

Matt’s jaw clenched in determination. “Yeah. I can do it. I’ve pulled innocents out of more remote locations than that. But this storm’s coming in fast. By 1500 hours tomorrow, it’ll be right on top of that peak.”