Free Be My Baby by Meg Benjamin

number. Just call me, no matter what it is. I can be out here in ten minutes.”
    Jess blinked at him. For a moment, her lips trembled as if she might cry. Then suddenly her expression closed off again. Her lips spread in a faint smile. “Okay. I’ll hold you to that. But it probably won’t be necessary.”
    Lars nodded. “Probably not.”
    He watched her for another moment. Her eyes were the color of sea foam, clear and deep.
    Okay, enough . If he was waxing poetic about the color of her eyes, it was past time to go. “Daisy,” he called, “are you ready?”
    “Yes, Daddy.” Daisy padded back to him, her backpack over her shoulder. “I said goodnight to Jack.” She turned to Jess. “Can I have a hug?”
    Jess knelt beside her, spreading her arms, her mouth sliding into a grin that showed the twin dimples in her cheeks as she pulled Daisy in.
    Lars felt his throat constrict as he watched, while some other parts of his anatomy did the opposite. He resolutely ignored the whole thing. He had no intention of walking into the Dew Drop with a hard-on.
     
     
    Lydia Moreland would never have admitted to anyone that she was waiting for a call. She didn’t wait on other people—other people waited on her.
    With Smythe, though, she had no choice. The contractor was in the driver’s seat—she was along for the ride. And to pay for the gas, of course. Judging from the first expense statement she’d received from Westerman, a lot of gas was involved.
    When her special cell phone rang around five, she picked it up immediately. Then she waited out two more rings. It wouldn’t do to let Smythe know how much she needed the information.
    “Yes?” she murmured into the cell.
    “Good. You’re there. I was afraid I’d have to leave a voice mail. And this isn’t anything you’ll want recorded.” Smythe still used the electronic distortion device. Even so the voice sounded faintly amused again, as if he knew exactly what Lydia had been up to.
    “That won’t be necessary,” she snapped. “Do you have anything to report?”
    “I’ve found your daughter-in-law. She’s living in a small town in Texas.” Smythe’s voice now sounded matter-of-fact, even slightly bored. Like he hadn’t just dropped a hand grenade into her afternoon.
    “What town?” she gasped. “Where?”
    “ A town. Before I tell you anything more, we need to discuss what the next step should be.”
    Lydia pictured the mythical Smythe leaning back in a chair, smiling. She always saw him as a dangerously civilized man, rather like James Mason in the fifties. In reality, of course, she had no idea what he looked like—or even if he was a man. The voice sounded like a robot.
    “There’s nothing to discuss. I’ve already told you what I want you to do. Give me the name of the town and send me another bill.” She used the voice that had proven effective over the years with bankers and lawyers, underlings who still had some limited power of their own.
    Smythe chuckled. “That attitude won’t work with me. I have the information and you need it. We’re negotiating here, Mrs. Moreland. What do you really want?”
    She pressed her fingers against her eyelids, trying to force back the migraine she knew was developing. “I want my grandson. Safe and sound. In my home.”
    “But not your daughter-in-law?”
    “Certainly not!” she snapped.
    “It’s not certain at all. She’s the child’s mother. But possession is possession, and I imagine your lawyers can distract her once you’ve gotten hold of her son.”
    She pressed her lips together to avoid cursing. Barrett’s slut of a wife probably would try to get the child back—she hadn’t listened to reason before. Lydia would have to make sure she didn’t have the opportunity. “What is it you want, Smythe? More money? I do need the name of the town, but I don’t necessarily need it from you.”
    “No,” he agreed. “Of course, I could just as easily inform your daughter-in-law that