The Water Baby

by Roz Denny Fox

  “Patrick, it appears Miranda’s gone underground with Rebecca. I’m considering offering a reward to smoke her out. I think a million dollars would get her interest, don’t you?” Temple slipped out of his jacket, unbuttoned his vest and rolled up the sleeves of his snowy white shirt while Pat Marsh reeled off thirty reasons it wasn’t wise to stir up what he called the money vultures.

  “It’s easy for you to say hold off, Pat. Your daughter sleeps in her own bed every night. I think I’m as familiar with money vultures as anyone around. After all, I was married to one. I want Rebecca home. That’s the bottom line.”

  He leaned back in his chair and rested his feet on a corner of his desk. Closing his eyes, he digested all the dire warnings his friend continued to spout. When the veteran attorney finished his spiel, Temple opened his eyes and said, “The P.I. you recommended can’t nail Miranda down. Domingo DeVaca’s got friends everywhere. I know him fairly well. He probably fancies himself Miranda’s savior in all of this. Who knows what lies she’s fed him? Yes, I’ve met several of his hotel staff. I suppose I could try greasing palms.” Straightening, he let the chair snap forward. “I’ll give your suggestions a try, Pat, then I’m going to leak news of the kidnapping and the reward.”

  He frowned as he listened. “Domingo and Miranda a romantic item? Yeah, I’ve thought of that, too. I’m not sure, though. I’ll grant you, she’s probably enamored with his money. But she also knows I’d pay a bundle to get Rebecca back. I’m sure she knows I’m getting damned tired of pussyfooting around. I’m running out of patience, Pat.” With a terse goodbye, he slammed the phone back into its cradle, then snatched it up again to call Brazil.

  Over the next few hours, many people jumped to Temple Wyatt’s beck and call, yet no one turned up a single concrete lead. Boggs managed to find out that sometime earlier in the week the Brazilian’s sixty-foot yacht, the Isabella, had left port for an unknown destination. Reluctantly he admitted to Temple that he suspected DeVaca and his two female guests had flown out by helicopter to join the boat en route to the States. The trail was stone-cold by the time Temple followed up. Nor was he able to unearth a soul who could—or would— confirm where, or even if, the Isabella went through customs to enter a U.S. port.

  Beaten and exhausted, Wyatt called his lawyers again. His legal advisers still urged him to hold off going to the police—to wait for Miranda to break her silence. There was little doubt among those who knew Temple’s ex-wife that she’d eventually ask for money. A lot of money.

  Temple stood at the window overlooking San Francisco harbor—a sight he’d once loved—and worried. It was June first, and Rebecca had already missed half of her first school year. How much longer could anyone expect him to wait before he charged Miranda and Domingo with kidnapping?

  He would give Miranda two more weeks.

  SHORTLY BEFORE two o’clock on her second day in Rum Row, Daisy hauled in a net that finished filling the fore hold with fat juicy shrimp. She jockeyed the trawler west of the yacht and prepared to drop her aft nets when all at once, a swift-moving boat with a deep hull approached the yacht from the sea side and doused her engines. Daisy caught a fleeting glimpse of three swarthy men.

  Great shrimping or not, she couldn’t haul anchor fast enough. The chain squeaked and her knees quaked. Rendezvous with speedboats spelled trouble with a capital T in Daisy’s book. Though disappointed at having to leave before her aft hold brimmed with shrimp, Daisy lost no time taking the trawler to full throttle. She aimed her craft toward patrolled waters and her home port on Galveston Island. Over the growl of her boat’s engines, Daisy heard the speedboat leave the same way it had comefast. She couldn’t resist darting one last sympathetic glance toward the forlorn waif who leaned far over the bow rail, frantically waving goodbye. The orange life vest made Becca easy to see, even from the increasing distance between them.

  Daisy lifted a hand to return the wave. After all, the poor kid wasn’t to blame for her parents or the company they kept. If the truth be known, Daisy didn’t want to think about what the speedboat might be picking up or dropping off in such a hurry. They hadn’t had time for more than a quick exchange. No matter what contraband was loaded aboard the yacht, it was a shame for that sweet child’s sake.

  At least now it was no longer a mystery how the couple could afford such an expensive yacht—sixty feet if she was an inch, and every inch riding regally high in the jade green water.

  As Daisy turned away, a tremendous blast rent the air. Stunned and horrified, she whipped back around to see the craft blow thirty feet high and splinter into a trillion pieces across her trawler’s wake.

  The scream that tore from her throat danced away on the sudden hot wind. In a reflex action born of a lifetime working the sea, she shut down the Lazy Daisy’s engines and scanned the choppy waves for any sign of survivors. She swallowed a sob. That little girl…

  Through a giant swell, Daisy saw the speedboat idle briefly along the shore. She was too far away to identify any pertinent markings—not that she would’ve gone in hot pursuit. Her first priority was to save anyone who might have survived the blast. As if confident no one would fit that description, the powerboat revved up and disappeared—into thin air, it seemed. In the same heartbeat, Daisy spotted a bright orange life jacket bobbing a safe distance away from the rapidly sinking debris.

  Before she could think twice about her own safety, she dropped anchor, shucked her deck shoes and leapt into the frothing whitecaps, her heart in her throat.

  She swam toward the blob of color being buffeted to and fro. It seemed to take forever. At last she was there and she reached out and grabbed the life vest with both hands. Hanging on fiercely, she began to kick her way back toward the trawler.

  “I’ve got you, my sweet water baby,” Daisy said between gasps as she towed the terrified little girl to safety. “I won’t let you go. I promise…”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “I NEVER DREAMED Becca would refuse to let me out of her sight, Dr. Rankin.” Daisy spoke softly, ever mindful of the child sleeping in the oversize hospital crib. “Not that I begrudge her anything, mind you. But it’s been two weeks, and I’m going stir-crazy being cooped up.”

  The slightly stoop-shouldered gray-haired man scribbled on the chart. “When you pulled her out of the water, Daisy, you became her lifeline. There’s still so much we don’t know about the mind. A consensus among the staff who’ve examined her is that she’s suffering some type of trauma-induced shock.”

  Daisy shivered. “That’s no surprise. She had a pretty shocking experience.”

  “And you were her savior,” the doctor said “A real heroine.”

  Daisy shrugged the praise away. “I was hightailing it out of there. And what kind of heroine shrimps near a pricey yacht in Rum Row and doesn’t get the name or call letters? Still, it’s odd the authorities haven’t turned up more, a yacht that size.”

  It was the doctor’s turn to shrug. “I suppose one bit of debris is much like another. Anyway, I detect a bit of our local look-the-other-way attitude, don’t you?”

  “You… you mean no one’s searching?” Daisy stammered. “Why?”

  “Daisy, Daisy.” The doctor closed the chart. “You know our history as well as I do. Galveston’s withstood Jean Lafitte’s pirates, takeovers by both the North and South in the Civil War, horrendous acts of God and scoundrels of all sizes, shapes and colors. What’s one yacht? I’m not condoning it, mind you. And don’t forget—there’ve been no inquiries.” He arched a brow and returned the gold pen to his breast pocket. “Accidents happen in the Row. Some think the less said, the better.”

  Daisy drew a hand through her tangled strawberryblond curls. “What about Becca?” Her sad gaze flicked to the child again. “She’s lost both parents. Surely there are aunts, uncles, grandparents—someone.” Daisy paused to rub her temples, aware she was beginning to sound hysterical.

  “The news is getting around. Maybe a relative will show up soon and you can get
back to your own life.”

  Daisy nodded. “My sister, Jasmine, read the story in the Houston paper. But my other sister, Violet, who lives in New Orleans, apparently hasn’t heard a word.”

  Dr. Rankin smiled sympathetically. “Well, Daisy, I hate to run. But I still have half my rounds, and I teach a pediatrics class in less than an hour.” He paused at the door. “The thing about shock is that Becca could wake up from this nap and remember everything. She suffered a nasty bump on the head. Will you stay at least until the swelling’s completely down?”

  “Of course. I feel guilty complaining. Only, I have a house, a dog, a cat and a boarder—a very busy medical student who’s been forced to look after everything. And tons of bills, yet I’m missing the best shrimping in two years.” She followed him to the door. “What if we asked Jana Jefferies to do a network television appeal?”

  The doctor tugged at one ear. “I’ve got no objection, as long as Jana tapes it here. Who knows? It might work. Otherwise, I’m afraid the next step is foster care. So far, with you here, I’ve managed to stave off Social Services.”

  “Foster care? Oh, no.” Daisy turned back to the child. “I’ll stay for as long as you need me.”

  “You’ve already given more than we had a right to ask. Do call Jana, and good luck with your search,” he said as he withdrew.

  Daisy gazed thoughtfully at Becca. The child screamed the roof down if Daisy left her side. Neither of them could handle this indefinitely. Daisy craved the sun and the sea; she needed to get out of this room. And Becca— they knew nothing about her, not even her age.

  Taking a deep breath, Daisy reached for the phone and dialed the local TV station.

  MORE THAN A WEEK had passed since Jana Jefferies’s moving interview had aired in neighboring states. Daisy prowled the stuffy hospital room and grappled with the fact that no one had come forward.

  The taping had been difficult. The lights and cameras had terrified Becca. If anything, she’d drawn deeper into her shell. Now Daisy feared that their efforts had been for naught. But there was still some hope; a few days ago Jana had called to say her boss had sent the tape to an international wire service.

  She was just too impatient, Daisy decided. Pressing her nose to the window, she gazed longingly at the sun. Her arms still ached from having rocked Becca to sleep for her afternoon nap. There seemed so little change, even though Dr. Rankin had pronounced the girl physically recovered

  Daisy intensely disliked the two women who’d come from Social Services. They seemed to consider Becca just another case—not to care about her personally. What would happen to the girl if they placed her with total strangers?

  Daisy sighed and watched her breath steam the window. Suddenly she sensed another presence in the darkened room.

  Whirling, she noticed a tall broad-shouldered leanhipped man silhouetted in the partially open door. “You have the wrong room,” she said softly, moving quickly to intercept him. People were always stumbling in here, looking for some other patient. Becca hadn’t been asleep ten minutes. If he awakened her, she’d be too cranky to eat supper.

  Daisy’s next words stuck in her throat as she found herself skewered by arctic blue eyes.

  “I recognize you.” The man surveyed her from head to toe. “From TV.”

  Surprised, she clung to the doorknob. Her own eyes followed his sweeping survey of the room, and she reflexively blocked his passage. Something in the way he homed in on Becca’s crib frightened Daisy. Had one of the men from the speedboat come back to finish what they’d started? Without hesitation, she forced him out, closed the heavy door behind her and promptly hailed a passing medical student.

  “Please call security,” she implored.

  The student dropped his textbook and gulped. He shoved dark-rimmed glasses back on his nose and puffed out a skinny chest. “Okay, buddy. No need to involve security if you quit buggin’ the lady and leave quietly.”

  “Lady or vulture?” The stranger raked that laser-beam gaze over Daisy’s decrepit thongs, wrinkled shorts and juice-stained tank top. “The lawyers warned me.”

  Daisy studied his impeccable three-piece suit. Lawyers. Had Social Services sent a man this time? Well, she wasn’t going to apologize for insulting him. Talk about vultures…

  Summarily dismissing her, the stranger again addressed the student. “Listen, I’ve traveled a long way to get here. I’m Temple Wyatt.” His tone implied that the name alone opened doors.

  When no one moved, he seemed annoyed. But Daisy relaxed. So he was just lost. Thank goodness, he wasn’t from Social Services. Before she could direct him to the nurses’ station, he backed the student to the wall “I spent half the night flying through a thunderstorm from San Francisco. First I want to see my daughter. Our pediatrician is on his way, but until he arrives, I’ll have a word with the doctor assigned to her case. Is that clear?”

  The student bobbed his head repeatedly, while Daisy stood by feeling sorry for whatever poor soul was handling his child.

  A sudden commotion near the elevators claimed Daisy’s attention. Jana Jefferies and an entourage of cameramen spilled out into the hall. Jana swept right up to the stranger, gushing as only Jana could in her most affected Southern drawl. “Y’all must be Temple Wyatt. You talked to my boss. Guess we missed you at the airport. But, sugah, I’m just so proud to hear my little ol’ interview reunited you and your long-lost baby.” Spinning, Jana hissed at her gawking crew in an altogether different tone, “Roll those cameras, you fools.”

  Light bars sprang instantly to life, blinding Daisy. She recovered long enough to ask, “What baby, Jana? Not Becca!”

  “Why, of course. Temple Wyatt—of the world-famous Wyatt resorts—is that darlin’ child’s daddy.” Jana ignored Daisy’s confusion. “Don’t frown so, hon. You’ll wrinkle.” She straightened a strap on Daisy’s tank top. “Now, sweet thang, when you set hands on that big reward, don’t forget who did the interview that brought Daddy Bigbucks to town.”

  The man identified as Temple Wyatt let his lip curl contemptuously. So, his legal counsel had pegged these bloodsuckers right. The blonde with the frizzy hair probably figured she’d landed on a gold mine. Like hell! Temple knew her kind only too well.

  Daisy was still chewing on Jana’s astounding revelation when Becca began to scream. Not bothering to excuse herself, Daisy raced back in to the room and scooped up the frightened girl

  Just as the sleep-groggy child snuggled into Daisy’s shoulder, Temple Wyatt strode through the door and held out his arms. “Rebecca, sweetheart. Daddy’s here, Sunshine,” he crooned. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

  Becca arched away from him and let out a bloodcurdling shriek. Her eyes were blank and uncomprehending.

  “Is she in pain?” Wyatt demanded of Daisy. “What in hell do you have her on?”

  Daisy had her hands full holding fifty pounds of thrashing child. And Jana’s camera lights were heating her body to match her temper. “She’s not on anything. Can’t you see she’s scared to death? Get out. Everyone get out and leave us alone “ Her mind raced. She’d seen Becca’s father on the yacht—or maybe not. Who was this man?

  A harried-looking Dr. Rankin rushed into the room. “Everyone out!” he shouted, and began shooing Jana’s crew toward the door. “That means you, too.” He motioned to the man claiming to be Becca’s father. “Staff at the information desk said they asked you to wait in the lobby until they found me. Are you hard of hearing?”

  Temple’s eyes never left the woman rocking his sobbing child. Then, although he wanted to np Rebecca from her slender arms, he turned his attention to the doctor. “Are you Rebecca’s physician?” It hurt Temple to hear his precious girl scream so. “Would someone mind telling me what’s going on?”

  “Rebecca?” Dr. Rankin squinted up at the suntanned tawny-haired stranger. “It’s true, then. Our Daisy’s fishing netted someone who knows our little mermaid.”

  “Our water baby,” Daisy murmured as she mo
ved away.

  “Her name is Rebecca. Rebecca Maria Wyatt.” Temple’s lips thinned bitterly. “My ex-wife took her from my mother’s home. Kidnapped, I should say.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Rebecca was a year old when Miranda and I divorced,” he clarified. “I don’t know exactly what’s happened to my daughter in the last few weeks, Doctor, but before I take her home, I’d like a full report. She seems… disoriented.” Wyatt’s brow furrowed. “The person I spoke with at the TV station didn’t mention injuries. I’d planned to fly home this evening.” He glanced at his watch as if willing the hours away.

  “I see.” Dr. Rankin massaged his jaw. “Quite a tale there, young fella. So I guess your ex remarried? Must’ve been her new hubby Daisy saw on the yacht before it blew up. We naturally assumed it was Becca’s daddy.”

  “Yacht?” Temple blinked. “DeVaca’s? I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Doctor. I left San Francisco the minute I saw Rebecca on TV. Is Miranda here in the hospital, too?” He glanced from one to the other. His daughter was calmer, at least, which eased the knot in his stomach.

  Dr. Rankin sent the man a measured look. “If Miranda was the woman with Becca, I’m sorry to say there’s been no trace of either adult since the accident.”

  The news staggered Wyatt. He paled beneath his tan, closed his eyes, bowed his head. Then he reached blindly for a chair and sat.

  “Becca doesn’t seem to know this man, Dr. Rankin.” Daisy spoke from the shadows where she’d gone to rock the child.

  “Is that a fact? Maybe you’d better come down to my office, son. I think we’ve got some sorting out to do.”

  “Why, Doctor? Why doesn’t my daughter know me? And I don’t understand about Miranda.” Wyatt rallied enough to square his shoulders. “I want to see someone in authority.” He slanted a distrustful glance at the woman who held his child.

  Dr. Rankin pulled his stethoscope from around his neck and folded it into the pocket of his less-than-lilywhite lab coat. “I’m afraid you’re still stuck with me. I’m chief of staff Shall we…?” He opened the door. “Daisy, we’ll talk later.”