Look What the Stork Brought (Man of the Month) Read online

  He’d ordered Sophie to get dressed and left her shedding her nightgown as if she’d never heard of modesty. Which was a pretty good indication, if he’d needed any, that he was perverted and she wasn’t.

  Traffic was light, which was a good thing, because before they even reached the county line the situation had worsened. When Sophie reached for one of Joe’s hands and placed it on Iris’s bare back, he swore—and maybe prayed a little. She was a furnace. Her temperature, if he was any judge, was already dangerously high. Joe cursed the time he’d wasted getting dressed.

  He reported in halfway to town. “She’s what—four days old now? Five? Maybe ten pounds or so... No problems up till now, no contacts, no—what? She’s breast-fed.” He glanced at Sophie. “Diarrhea?”

  She shook her head, and he replied, “Don’t think so. She seemed all right last night, but she’s burning up now, and listless. We should be there in about three, four minutes, tops.”

  Sophie bore up like a trooper. She’d gotten that lioness look about her now. Nothing was going to happen to her cub, not while she still had breath in her body.

  By the time they pulled up at the Emergency entrance she’d lost the last vestige of color in her face, but her voice and hands were steady. She handed her baby out to the white-suited attendants, slid down off the high seat and hurried after them while Joe wheeled crookedly into the closest parking space.

  Inside, he ran slam into a stone wall. There’d been a time when his badge would have opened doors for him. Now all he had was attitude, and with some people, including the woman behind the desk, that only made things worse.

  “If you’ll just take a seat in the waiting area, Mr.—”

  “Dana. I’ll take a seat, but first I want to know where—”

  “Are you family?”

  He was tempted to say yes, but by now he knew the pitfalls. “A close family friend. The closest. I brought them in. Hell, I practically delivered her—”

  “There’s no use in swearing, Mr. Donner.”

  “Dana. Will you make sure Ms. Bayard knows I’m here?”

  “Does she have insurance?”

  Joe was ready for that, because he’d been the route when he’d brought her in before. He didn’t have her card, though. “She delivered here. She’ll be in your computer.” He gave out the statistics and then stalked over to the waiting area, where he blew out his worry and frustration in a single hard gust. He hadn’t taken time to shave. Hadn’t taken time to wash the sleep out of his eyes, so he found a men’s room and did the best he could, glancing at his watch every few minutes.

  They ought to know something by now. Dammit, Sophie didn’t need this! He’d give anything in the world to be back home fixing her breakfast while she rocked and nursed and sang crazy songs she made up on the spot. About fish named Darryl. About rabbits that ate chocolate-covered cherries, spat out the seeds, which promptly sprouted and produced more chocolate-covered-cherry trees.

  Back in the waiting area he paced, glancing up whenever he heard footsteps. Which was a lot of glancing. Emergency rooms were noisy places by their very nature, even in a small hospital on a quiet Sunday morning.

  He thought some more about the plan that had occurred to him sometime during the night. There’d been no time to mention it yet, but with any luck at all he could be back home in Dallas by the middle of the week, his mission accomplished, with no untidy ends left dangling.

  “Joe? They told me you were here.”

  He twisted around and nearly fell when his knee clicked out on him. Sophie reached for him, he reached for her, and they stood there holding on to each other. He didn’t know who was supporting whom, but it felt good. It felt damn good.

  “Is she—” He couldn’t bring himself to ask. If anything happened to that baby—he’d practically delivered her. That gave him a few proprietary rights, didn’t it?

  Sophie shuddered but she wasn’t crying. “They’ve iced her down.”

  “For the fever?”

  She murmured something into his neck. It sounded like “Mmm-hmm,” but the way the vibrations shot through him, it felt more like a cattle prod.

  “Do they know what caused it yet? Is it serious? My partner’s kids used to run high fevers over the least little thing. The next day they’d be out playing ball again. Maybe she’s cutting teeth.” He thought about all the germs that ran rampant in hospitals. All the genetic problems she might’ve been born with, that there hadn’t been time to check out.

  “It was a tick.”

  “A...tick?”

  “And it’s all my fault.” She did sob then, once or twice. Joe held her close and stroked her back and there-there’d her a time or two.

  “Honey, it couldn’t be your fault. I’ve never seen a more devoted mother than you are.”

  “I went out yesterday after the rain, remember? And I didn’t change clothes before I picked her up. I must’ve brought it in.”

  Still hanging on to him, she drew in a great, shuddering breath. He patted and stroked some more, hoping she didn’t realize what all this closeness was doing to him. It was way out of line, but admitting it didn’t solve the problem.

  “There now...I know what’s wrong with you. Why don’t we have some—well, whatever the machines can provide. We haven’t had breakfast yet. You’ll be able to think a whole lot better on a full stomach.” And he’d be able to think a whole lot better with all that sweet softness across the table from him.

  Or across the country.

  She said she couldn’t eat a bite, but Joe set her aside and strode off in search of food. Not to mention a little self-control. It was downright embarrassing to be so turned on by a woman under these circumstances. He was ashamed of himself. The last time he could remember being this ashamed of himself had been when he’d been about five. He’d gotten caught short and had relieved himself in a tennis trophy in his grandfather’s library.

  They ate cheese crackers, peanuts, oatmeal cookies and drank weak coffee with whitener that tasted like scented talcum powder. Sophie ate more than her share, but every few minutes she jumped up and rushed down the hall to see if there was any change.

  “They ran me off,” she said plaintively after the third time. “They were nice about it. but all the same—”

  “Is she still here in Emergency?”

  “They’ve taken her up to Pediatrics. The doctor’s with her now. They got the tick out, but they want to keep her in here overnight. That’s what I came down to tell you.”

  Joe thought that was a pretty good idea, what with the possibility of Rocky Mountain spotted fever and Lyme disease, but he didn’t say so. No point in adding to her worries.

  “She’s in excellent hands. They know what to do,” he said.

  “I know. So you can go on back, if you want to. Naturally I’ll be staying.”

  “Honey, all mothers want to stay with their young‘uns, but if all of ’em did, they’d just get in the way.”

  “I won’t get in the way. I’ll stay out in the waiting room. I’d never be able to sleep anyway.”

  “Let me take you home. I can have you back here in twenty-five minutes, anytime you want to come back.”

  “I’m staying.”

  He couldn’t argue. If that was his kid in there, he’d feel the same way. Did, in fact. “Did you feed Darryl?”

  “Not since last night.”

  “Then why don’t I go back, feed him and get whatever you need and come back?”

  She leaned her forehead against his shoulder in that way she had, and Joe’s arms went around her as naturally as if he had every right. He left her there a few minutes later, promising to be back within an hour. Knowing he was going to pass up a great opportunity to search for whatever was left of the jade.

  Six

  Joe turned off 158, going over in his mind what needed doing before he raced back to the hospital. He had a list. Sophie had folded it several times and stuck it into his pocket. She’d reminded him to feed Darryl, to b
e sure the window in the pantry was shut and that the wire fence around her garden that was supposed to keep out vegetarian predators, but didn’t, was secure.

  Joe reminded himself to call Miss Emma and Donna. It would take only a few minutes, and his grandmother had actually asked a question about Iris the last time he’d called her. Which was more than she’d done about the collection.

  While he was at it, he’d shower and shave, and change into a clean shirt and his last clean pair of jeans. He might even take another look around for—

  No, he wouldn’t. He’d made up his mind about that. He was going to tell her there was a reward, and then she’d hand over the jade and he’d hand over a few grand—he’d never touched his trust fund. Never needed it, but his pension didn’t run to five-grand rewards. Besides, he’d already allocated the trust as start-up capital. With all the problems inherent in the security business, it was going to be damned expensive.

  After that, he’d go back home. The museum would get the jade. Old Jonnie would get his name on a plaque. Miss Emma would dust off her hands and say, “Well...that’s that,” and everyone would live happily ever after.

  Yeah, right.

  Not until Joe reached out to unlock the front door did it come over him. Situation awareness. This time it took the form of goose bumps on the back of his arms and a prickly feeling that something was off-kilter.

  Pressing his ear flat against the paneled door, he listened. And heard nothing. Silently he made his way to the front window and peered in, careful to keep a low profile.

  And then he swore and headed for the front door. It was still locked. He unlocked it, pocketed the key and stood there, staring at the shambles before him. Scattered sofa cushions trailing their stuffing. Fumi-ture tipped over—some of it broken. Someone had done a thorough job of trashing the place. Whoever had done the job had been mean mad, not just searching. There was a viciousness about the whole thing that made his skin crawl. Whoever it was hadn’t been gone long, either, because the fish was still flapping on the floor beside his overturned aquarium.

  Grim-faced, Joe stepped over a pile of books and an upturned wastebasket, scooped up the fish and took him to the kitchen. “Sorry, guy, this will have to do for now,” he said, and dropped him into a soup bowl filled from the tap. He had a feeling there was more to the care and maintenance of a goldfish than that, but at the moment it was the best he could do.

  All he could think of was, thank God they hadn’t been here. Thank God Sophie and the baby had been out of the house!

  He wished now he’d paid more attention to the voice on the phone. He’d heard only a few words, just enough to know it was male, nasal and unpleasant.

  Point of entry was easy. The pantry window had been left open. The screen was knocked out. There were clods of mud on the floor. He checked the prints outside the window—there were several, all from the same pair of shoes. A size ten, about a hundred-forty pounds give or take. He recognized the distinctive imprint of a popular brand of athletic shoe, which didn’t make his job a whole lot easier. Probably a third of the men in Davie County owned a pair, and a third of those were probably a size ten.

  Ah, jeez, she didn’t need this.

  His first instinct was to go after the creep. But then he thought about bringing Sophie home to this mess, and realized he couldn’t let her see it. He wasn’t sure if he could talk her into going to a hotel and wondered what possible excuse he could give. For all he knew, she might not even be coming home tomorrow. It could be the next day. Or the next.

  His gut clenched at the thought of what that would mean. He’d never heard of an infant getting any of the various tick-borne diseases, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen. Less than a week old, the poor little kid wouldn’t stand a chance.

  The word he uttered was more prayer than curse. He felt so damned helpless. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt that way, but it was a sensation few cops ever got used to.

  He was standing in a mess of flour, rice and dry cereal, staring down at canisters, pots and pans. And broken dishes. As if the scumball had raked them out of the cabinets for the fun of hearing them break. A sack of dried beans had been ripped open and slung across the floor. He stood there and swore some more, but then he clamped a lid on it, took out Sophie’s list, unfolded it and started to read.

  From bedroom: a nursing bra and a pair of underpants, top drawer, left-hand side. Nightgown hanging on back of closet door. Slippers beside bed. Hairbrush.

  From kitchen: pills from shelf beside clock. Candy bars from covered jar beside refrigerator. All of them.

  From bathroom: toothbrush, toothpaste, moisturizer in pink bottle, bottom shelf. Blue box under lavatory.

  He found a plastic grocery bag and scooped up the pill bottles—two prescriptions and a vitamin supplement. The candy bars were buried under all the crap on the floor. He’d replace them on the way into town.

  He then tried the bedroom. There was nothing in the top drawer, or any other drawer. The mattress had been slashed and overturned, the dresser toppled after the contents had been dumped in a pile and scattered. Joe, possessed of a kind of hard, cold anger he hadn’t felt in many a year, did the best he could.

  The underpants were easy. Several pairs were caught on a lampshade. He chose a pretty peach-colored pair, no lace, no fancy cut. The bras were not quite that easy. He’d never seen a nursing bra before, but he figured it must be the no-nonsense number with the flaps in front. He found a couple and tucked them into his pocket.

  Going through her underwear this way, when she wasn’t around, made him feel like some kind of a creep. A voyeur. Joe told himself it was no more than any husband would do for his wife under similar circumstances, only Sophie wasn’t his wife.

  On the other hand, in the brief time they’d known each other, he’d done a few things for her that some husbands never got to do. That gave him certain rights, didn’t it? Certain privileges? At the very least, a legitimate interest?

  Next he headed for the bathroom. At least her toothbrush hadn’t been touched. He grabbed that and a new tube of toothpaste and the pink bottle from the medicine cabinet. The only thing under the lavatory besides drainpipes was a can of bathroom cleanser, a bowl brush and a pair of rubber gloves. The rest had been trashed. There were two blue boxes on the floor, both of them empty. One had held some kind of blue scented powder. He seemed to remember his wife using something similar in her bath, only hers had been green.

  The other blue box had held another familiar feminine product, each one individually wrapped. He thought about gathering them up and cramming them in on top of the rest of the stuff, but then she’d want to know where the box was, and he wasn’t ready to answer any questions.

  So he swore some more and jotted down the pertinent data so he could buy her another box on his way back to the hospital. Remembering the way she’d folded the list over and over, not quite meeting his eyes, some of the grimness left his face. Bless her heart, she’d been embarrassed. He could’ve told her if she’d asked, that a nurse could have provided her with most of the items she needed.

  “Sophie, Sophie, what am I going to do about you?” he whispered. Taking one last look around, he went out to his truck and called in on his mobile to report the break-in. Assured that someone would be out right away, he settled down to wait. He tried to remember what kind of candy bars she liked, but couldn’t, so he decided to get her a big box of chocolates, instead. Might save answering questions.

  Time passed. Heat simmered. Under a cloudless sky, the sun was merciless. Inside the pickup, Joe sat, thighs sprawled wide, arms crossed over his chest, his face expressionless and all the more chilling because of it. Not that he hadn’t seen this kind of thing before. He had. Every cop had.

  But this time it was personal. This time it had happened to Sophie. And for reasons he didn’t care to explore, Joe felt as if this time it had happened to him, too.

  Sophie sat by the crib, cupping a tiny foot in one hand, and gaze
d down at the small face. Fatcheeks, Joe called her. Sophie had been indignant the first time she’d heard it, but be was right. She did have fat cheeks. And a button nose. And a tiny, pointed chin and a curvy, little rosebud mouth no bigger than a doll’s mouth. Now that her skin was pink and white instead of red, you could even see her hair—a pale, transparent fuzz that wisped up on top.

  A nurse came in and took her temperature, then smiled encouragingly and left. Sophie let out the breath she hadn’t even known she’d been holding. It had been almost back to normal the last time, but the doctor had said he wanted to watch for any sign of inflammation.

  She was still fretful. The nurse said that was natural. Sophie knew better. She needed feeding, but so far they’d allowed her only boiled water. The doctor had said if her temperature was normal and she woke in the night, Sophie could nurse her. Meanwhile, a nurse’s aid had brought in a breast pump and showed her how to use it, which was embarrassing and uncomfortable, but not as uncomfortable as painfully engorged breasts.

  And through it all, Sophie alternately prayed for her baby’s recovery and thought about Joe. Which made her feel ashamed, because the last thing a woman in her circumstances should be thinking about was a man. Any man. Especially a man who believed she was a crook. A man who moved in and took over her life at a time when she was in no condition to stop him.

  And now she didn’t even want to stop him, and that made it worse.

  “Gentleman in the waiting room to see you, Ms. Bayard. He brought you some things from home. Lucky you.” The aid rolled her eyes and grinned.

  Sophie stood, brushed a kiss on Iris’s pale fuzz and tugged at her dress. Nothing fit her anymore. Her maternity things were too large, her prematernity clothes too tight. She’d just assumed that once she’d had her baby she would go back to her old figure, which, while generous, had been firm and shapely enough. She’d always been tall and big-boned. It wasn’t something dieting could change.