by Holmes, Dee
Kathleen blinked, her mind scrambling to put all the relationships together. Obviously this woman was a well-intentioned gossip, but Kathleen did catch two pieces of pertinent information. Lisa’s mother was absent from the list of relatives and Lisa’s grandfather was once the police chief. The latter sent a shiver through her.
“What’s your name, my dear?” the woman asked. “I’m Mavis Carmody, by the way.”
“Kathleen Yardley.”
“What a pretty name. Well, Kathleen, I know Booth will want to thank you for coming to Lisa’s rescue.”
“No need to thank me, but—”
“I can’t believe I didn’t hear little Lisa,” she said, shaking her head in self-reproach. She chattered on again, this time fluffing the couch pillows, then picking up the newspaper and folding it. “I have total deafness in one ear. I swear it’s because Eric—he’s my son, by the way—used to play that pounding rock music so loud it would have turned Bach in his grave. The doctor has no idea what caused it—the deafness, I mean—which makes one wonder why medical care is so expensive when they can’t come up with a reason for deafness. I mean, it’s not like I expect perfect hearing, but...” She prattled on about the doctors she’d seen, a visit to a Boston specialist and money wasted on hearing aids. “Anyway, I fell asleep on my good ear,” she said, finishing at last.
Kathleen was exhausted just listening. Lisa had closed her eyes, drifting off to sleep. “That explains it, then.”
The woman nodded, clearly regretting her carelessness. “I try never to do that. I mean, I’ve missed a few important phone calls, but Lisa crying and not being heard, well, that’s inexcusable. I’m so glad you awakened and were concerned enough to come up.”
“I am, too. She’s a beautiful little girl.”
Mavis went to the kitchen, switching on lights, then prepared a bottle for Lisa. Kathleen liked cuddling the child in her arms, but she knew she really should return to her own apartment.
As Mavis took the baby back, Lisa immediately awakened and began to cry again. “Oh, dear, I think she’s still annoyed with me for not hearing her,” Mavis said. “Well, I can hardly blame her. She’s been upset enough tonight. Would you mind holding her while she has her bottle? She seems secure with you.”
“I’d love to.” Kathleen took the bottle, which the baby immediately grabbed and put in her mouth. When Mavis suggested the rocking chair, Kathleen settled there with Lisa. Then she asked, “Are her parents out for the evening?”
“Her father is working, but her mother...” Mavis’s expression clouded with sadness. “She died shortly after Lisa was born.”
Kathleen’s eyes widened. “How awful.”
“Angie and Booth had been so excited about the baby. They’d been married a number of years, and Angie had waited to have a child because she had the responsibility of an ailing father. The pregnancy wasn’t difficult, but Angie unexpectedly developed an aneurysm. Lisa was delivered healthy and squalling, but Angie didn’t make it.”
To Kathleen’s surprise, her eyes stung with tears—empathy for Angie who would never hold her sweet baby, and for Lisa who would never know her mother. “Some things in life just aren’t fair, are they?”
Mavis agreed. “Booth was devastated, as you would expect, but to his credit he has managed wonderfully. Although I wish I didn’t have to be here when he finds out I went to sleep and let his daughter scream her poor lungs out.”
“Is he the violent type?”
“Only when it comes to Lisa. If anything happened to her...” Mavis shuddered. She patted Lisa and said, “I’m going to freshen up and then straighten the kitchen. She should sleep after the feeding. Oh, dear, she should be changed.”
“I already did that.”
Mavis smiled. “You’re way ahead of me, Kathleen.” She lifted the quilt from the toy box. “This is the reason she was crying. She woke up and couldn’t find her blanket. She’d been sitting with me and fell asleep. I put her to bed and forgot all about the quilt.” She handed it to Kathleen.
The older woman went into the bathroom, and Kathleen rocked while Lisa drank her bottle. Minutes passed, and Kathleen felt a pleasant contentment drift over her. The sleepy baby in her arms, the gentle motion of the rocking chair... If she closed her eyes, she could almost believe that this was where she would be safe, where she could let down her guard, where she’d never have to run again.
Booth RAWLINGS slammed the door of his black Explorer and winced at the noise. He had a roaring headache. His frustration over three missing fourteen-year-old girls had turned what should have been a night of catching up on paperwork into a fruitless questioning of family members who were so clueless he’d wanted to shake them.
No, he corrected himself. Not clueless. Just incapable of believing that their daughters had methodically planned to disappear. He’d been diplomatic and sympathetic in his attempt to keep them focused on this issue, but they’d been more concerned about blaming themselves.
Booth had little use for the current psychobabble. Blaming parents for ill-conceived juvenile behaviors wasted time and accomplished little. From the pieces Booth had put together, these kids had gone by choice, and unless something significantly bizarre turned up, they’d undoubtedly come home by choice, as well.
He thought of Lisa, and vowed right then that he would make it a point to know who her friends were and what she was doing. Simplistic, sure, but he saw too many kids drift into trouble out of boredom or lack of attention.
His own interest in troubled teens had been nurtured by his father, who strongly believed that kids needed role models. Doug Rawlings had been one, both at work and at home. Booth could only hope to emulate him.
Because of his own heads-up work with troubled teenage boys, he’d gotten a promotion in March to detective in the juvenile division of the Crosby Police Department.
Crosby was much smaller than New London to the south, and Booth carried the responsibility of staying in close touch with parents as well as being available for the kids. He liked his job, and working nights had given heft to Crosby’s commitment to keep juvenile crime under control.
To Booth’s knowledge, no other detective had actually requested night shifts. Booth had good reason for his preference—his daughter. He wanted to spend time with her during the day as well as make sure she had consistent care at night. So far, his decision had been the right one, he decided as he climbed the stairs to his apartment.
But when he pushed open the door and saw the young woman holding Lisa, he was temporarily confused. Then, dragging his hand down his face, he realized he was witnessing an idealized scene; one he’d created almost a year ago during the last days of Angie’s pregnancy—coming home, and seeing Angie holding Lisa to her breast. Angie waiting for him. His wife, his daughter, his family.
The scene had never materialized, yet here it was, as wonderful as he’d always fantasized it would be. He shook away the image. His headache, coupled with his lingering frustration, brought him back to reality.
“Who the hell are you?”
CHAPTER TWO
SHE LOOKED UP, startled, holding Lisa tightly against her.
Booth took a breath. “Well?”
“I’m Kathleen Yardley.” She shrank back as though wishing she could disappear.
“What are you doing with my daughter?”
She swallowed, appearing to get her bearings, and looked at him for a long, unblinking moment. Then she glanced back down at Lisa. “Shh. Your daughter just fell asleep. Please lower your voice or she’ll start crying again.”
Booth noticed that her voice remained calm even while his had risen. He also noted that she was pretty in an unassuming way, with dark blond hair that was smooth and fine, unlike the heavy, lush curls Angie had had. Nor was this woman’s body as ripe. Yet it was her eyes that captivated him. Wide-spaced and blue and finely lashed, they were eyes that were intensely on guard, eyes that held deeply hidden secrets, eyes that would darken like indigo fire whe
n she was aroused....
Good God, Booth thought, what was he thinking?
Clearing away his disturbing thoughts, he deliberately made his voice gruffer. “You still haven’t told me what you’re doing with my daughter.”
Holding Lisa so as not to jar her, the woman slowly rose to her feet. He watched her as she moved toward him. “Lisa’s tummy is full, and if you take her carefully she shouldn’t wake up.”
She eased Lisa into his arms, and he felt the slight brush of her hands against his shirt. Then she handed him the pink quilt Angie had made during her pregnancy. Lisa had slept with it tucked around her since birth. The woman pulled away, but the feel of her fingers stayed with him. Lisa continued to sleep.
“Maybe I’m not making my questions clear enough,” he muttered, as disturbed by his reaction to this stranger as he was by finding her holding his daughter. He shifted Lisa, and tucked her closer to him. “Let’s try this. Where’s Mrs. Carmody?”
“Mavis is in the kitchen.”
“Mavis?” Booth arched his eyebrows. “I’ve never called her Mavis in my life.”
“Really? Oh, well, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Wait a minute. Where did you come from and why are you here?” For reasons that mystified him, he couldn’t understand why he needed to ask such obvious questions. The woman should be falling all over herself to explain. This was his apartment, his baby, and it was two o’clock in the morning. Lisa stirred and began to fuss, and he tried to settle her back down.
Mavis entered the room, planted her hands on her hips and shook her head at him in a scolding manner. “Booth, for pity’s sake, do you have to bluster like a prison warden? You should be on your knees thanking Kathleen instead of yelling at her as if she were some common criminal.”
Kathleen’s face paled.
Booth, trying to quiet Lisa, merely said, “I was not yelling.”
“Yes, you were. Just like you used to when you were a little boy and didn’t get your way.” She gave Kathleen a knowing look as if she would understand the antics of small boys. “Then he would hold his breath, practically turning blue and frightening us all to death while we waited for what seemed like forever for him to breathe again.”
Kathleen smiled. “One of my brothers used to do that, and my father would toss cold water in his face. It’s called a temper tantrum.” She eyed Booth with an odd look he couldn’t quite pin down. “I wonder why I’m not surprised that Mr. Rawlings was a difficult child.”
“You’re a big help,” Booth grumbled.
“Just an observation.”
“You don’t know me well enough to make an observation,” he countered, amused and fascinated by her.
“My misfortune, I’m sure,” she murmured.
He raised an eyebrow. “We could easily find a remedy for that.”
“I think not.”
Their eyes met, and a laser of tension shot between them. Booth took a deep breath. She was quick with comebacks if sufficiently irritated. It had been a while since he’d had a conversation with a woman that didn’t involve feedings, baby-sitting and pediatricians. “Okay, I’ll talk in a whisper. What has Kathleen done that I should be thanking her?”
“Thanking me on your knees,” Kathleen added.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“As a matter of fact, I am.”
“Don’t push it.”
“And if I do?”
She was too damn quick, and Booth couldn’t deny that he was enjoying the sparring. “You always have to have the last word?”
“It’s been a long time, Mr. Rawlings, and I have to say, it has a nice feel to it.”
“Far be it from me to mess up the roll you’re on.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
“Okay, you two,” Mavis interjected. “It’s late, and I want to go home. But first, Booth, you need to hear exactly what happened.”
Mavis explained about falling asleep on her good ear, Kathleen coming up when she heard Lisa crying and how Lisa had taken to her immediately. That, of course, explained why Kathleen had been feeding her when he came home.
“I’m so sorry, Booth. Truly, I am. I just feel so terrible and inadequate. I mean, if anything had happened, I would never have forgiven myself.”
Booth almost said he wouldn’t have forgiven her, either, but he didn’t. Lisa was fine.
“I do owe you my gratitude,” Booth said to Kathleen.
“It turned out to be a pleasant interruption. I had a chance to meet your daughter, and she’s beautiful.”
His mouth twitched. “Yeah, we agree on that, at least.”
Mavis Carmody started to say good-night when the phone rang. Suddenly Lisa stiffened, opened her eyes, took one look at Booth and began to scream.
He patted her and whispered soothing words, but she was having none of it. Mavis answered the phone and called to Booth, who juggled and jounced his daughter in an attempt to stop her crying.
At that moment someone banged on the door, yelling about a baby keeping him awake all night.
“Alfred from downstairs,” Booth said to Kathleen above Lisa’s crying. “I should remind him of how loud he keeps his TV set on when I’m trying to sleep.”
Mavis yawned, and opened the door to Alfred.
“Booth, do you need me to stay?” she asked, but clearly she wanted to leave, so he indicated she should go on home and went to the phone. Mavis put on her sweater, took her car keys from her purse, and said good-night.
Alfred Spottswood, a retired antique dealer, was left standing in the doorway in a nightshirt. He was scowling so hard his eyebrows came together in one long bushy shelf. “Booth, you must find a way to keep that baby from crying all night.”
“I’m working on it, Alfred.” Booth gratefully handed the still-wailing Lisa to Kathleen. Then, as if someone had thrown an invisible switch, the baby stopped crying.
“You’re an angel of mercy, my dear,” Alfred said. “How much would I have to bribe you to take up full residence with Lisa?”
Kathleen laughed. “You’re very kind.”
“No, just used to eight hours of sleep.” He glanced at Booth. “Figure out a way to hire her, Booth. The entire building will be forever grateful.” And with that he turned and went back to his own apartment
Booth and Kathleen stood less than six feet apart as he held the phone and she held the child.
And the silence was suddenly filled with an odd new tension that coiled and sparked with an energy Booth didn’t want to put a name to.
KATHLEEN REALIZED she should have made her exit when Booth came home. Now she lowered her eyes to break the hold he seemed to have on her. He turned his back to speak to the person on the phone, and Kathleen let out the breath she’d been holding.
There was no question that she’d felt a strange, indescribable rush when she’d glanced up and seen him standing a few feet from her. She wanted to attribute the unusual feeling to the dearth of men in her life—a choice, she now reminded herself, that was her own. But in the case of Booth, she suspected her inner response to him was something more complicated. Like curiosity and admiration—despite his rudeness to her. Even for that she could hardly blame him. He’d come home to find a stranger holding his daughter. Kathleen decided she was probably fortunate that crankiness had been his only reaction.
She was amazed at how quickly her instincts had taken his measure. He was obviously devoted to his daughter. He had a quick sense of timing and humor that energized her. If she believed in Karma, or fate, or the perfect alignment of planets, her reaction could easily be explained. But Kathleen didn’t put stock in mystical forces or divine intervention. She trusted herself and her own determination to survive.
For too long her life had been a garish true-to-life nightmare, without hope, without anyone. And since she had to be so careful that no one learned who she was, a lonely life seemed her destiny. She’d become so accustomed to being suspicious of everyone and everything, she f
eared she was losing perspective on the most innocent of events.
That deep loneliness, born of her fear of being found, had churned inside her for so long that Kathleen was now like a dry sponge that had suddenly been plunged into a pail of water. As wonderful as they felt, she knew that these feelings for Lisa and, yes, even for Booth, were an emotional minefield. What was particularly puzzling and scary was that Booth seemed so perfectly in tune with her, as if he’d known her for a very long time.
And he was so attractive.... No, more than that, he was sexy and disturbing, which was a whole different thing. How strange that she would so easily take note of his physical appearance in a positive way. Her husband’s physical appearance always struck her with its power, with his desire to conquer, to make sure she knew who was boss.
Kathleen rubbed Lisa’s back, reminding herself of the baby’s true connection with Booth. Lisa had made her think positively of Booth. How could she not, when his child so obviously ruled his heart?
She glanced over at him. He’d anchored the phone on his shoulder and was speaking in a low voice while he made some notes on a pad. His hair was a dark sable brown that was somewhat long without being shaggy. He wore snug faded jeans and a denim jacket over a cotton sports shirt with both collars flipped up; his clothes fit his tall lean body as if they’d been designed for him.
Booth straightened, covered the mouthpiece and said, “Would you mind putting her to bed for me? I’m afraid to touch her.”
“It is puzzling that she reacted so strongly.”
“She’s a wise child. She knows a soft touch when she sees one.”
Kathleen grinned. “Very wise.”
“Brilliant, in fact.”
“And beautiful.”
“That, too. But brilliant beats beautiful any day.”
