by Rachel Lee
He wasn’t sure exactly how, but for many years now he’d been playing things close to the vest, gathering information while giving none, learning to see information as power. He wasn’t undercover now, and he told himself it was ridiculous to feel uneasy because he’d run into someone who knew he was with the D.E.A. For Pete’s sake, what did it matter? It wasn’t as if he was trying to deceive anyone. It wasn’t as if Gage knowing him could put him at risk.
But he was uncomfortable anyway. He didn’t like people knowing things about him, even minor things.
Entirely too paranoid, that was what he was. But paranoia had kept him alive, and it wasn’t easy to relinquish.
And that conversation with Nathan Tate earlier—that had been ridiculous. “Hi, I’m staying in town for a few days and thought I ought to let you know I’m a D.E.A. agent, and I’m armed.” As he stood there with the peanut in his arms.
Man, the sheriff must be wondering if he was off his rocker.
Tate had stared at him for a minute, then asked, “Are you expecting any trouble?”
Reasonable question. Tate had seemed okay. He’d looked younger than Rafe had expected of a man in his fifties, and there was nothing about him to put anyone in mind of the sheriff in one of those Grade-B movies. Just a competent, weathered, capable-looking man in an office buried in paperwork. Well, at least he knew his brother probably wasn’t a sleaze. Although you could never really be sure. He’d met more than one crooked cop in his day.
But if Rafe had been looking for some kind of instant recogmtion, he hadn’t found it. His brother didn’t look like their mother. But then, neither did he. Looking at the one photograph he had of his old man, Rafe knew he resembled the rodeo clown who had fathered him. Nate probably took after his own father. Not one lick of their mother in either of them.
Both he and Nate had become cops. When he thought about it, that was downright interesting. Both of them had been sired by men who’d ditched their obligations. Maybe the way they’d been brought up had given them a desire for law and order?
But there was no way to know without talking to Nate, and he wasn’t ready to do that. First he had to scope out the man’s reputation around here.
No, first he had to pack up, check out and take the peanut over to Gage Dalton’s house. He could probably learn a lot about Nate Tate from Dalton. That and getting the peanut out of this tiny room were all the motivation he needed.
He found the Dalton house without any difficulty and parked his beater behind a blue Toyota. He was hardly out of the car before Gage Dalton was coming down the darkening walk with a smile of welcome. Behind him, in the pool of warm lamplight that spilled out of the open doorway, stood a red-headed Valkyrie. A real knockout.
“What can I help with?” Gage asked.
Rafe popped the trunk, revealing a stack of cheap luggage he’d purchased on the road and the travel bed. “Anything you want to grab. I need to get the peanut. Thanks, Gage.”
“No problem.”
Rafe lifted the sleeping baby, car seat and all, and the diaper bag, and carried them toward the house. The woman stepped back to let him in. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Emma Dalton.”
“Rafe Ortiz. And this is Rafael Jr. ‘Peanut’ for short.”
Emma peeked into the car seat and tugged the receiving blanket back just a little so she could see the tiny face. Women always did that. Rafe couldn’t understand the fascination His own kid, yeah, sure, he was interested in checking out the peanut, but somebody else’s kid? Women were crazy that way.
“How adorable,” Emma said.
“He’s a good kid,” Rafe said. “Thanks for asking us to stay with you.”
Emma dazzled him with a smile. “We couldn’t let the two of you stay in a motel. That’s impossible with an infant. Your room’s up the stairs, around the hall corner and at the back of the house. You can get settled in. Dinner will be in about an hour, but come down whenever you feel like it.”
“Thanks.” He headed for the stairs with Gage right behind him, carrying the luggage.
“We’ve got another friend staying with us,” Gage said as he followed Rafe up the stairs. “She arrived just a little while ago, too. Nice lady.”
Gads, another woman. Probably a decent woman. For some reason he was only comfortable with women if they were hookers, dealers or cops. Then he knew how to treat them. Too many dazzling, decent smiles and he was apt to get heartburn.
Well, what the hell, he told himself as he set the peanut and his carrier in the middle of the bed and turned to help unload Gage.
“Any of this you want me to take back downstairs?” Gage asked. “Formula and bottles, maybe? It’d be easier for you to deal with all that in the kitchen.”
“Yeah, sure. That’d be great.”
But before he could find the stuff and give it to Gage, the baby decided to wake up and demand immediate attention. Rafe looked at Gage and saw his own rueful look returned.
“I think I’d better take care of him first,” Rafe said over the baby’s squalls.
“Sure. If you need any help, let me know. I had kids of my own at one time.” Something in Gage’s face shadowed. “I’m good at feeding and diapering and pacing the floor in the middle of the night. Just holler.”
“Thanks.” Rafe turned to the kid as the door closed behind Gage. As soon as he picked the baby up, the cries quieted.
“Imagine that, Peanut,” he said to his son. “Some other guy got suckered into this crap, too.”
And looking down into those dark blue baby eyes, still damp around the edges, Rafe thought how easy it was to be suckered.
Peanut was still on Miami time, so he was ready to play after his diapering and feeding and didn’t seem at all inclined to go back to sleep. Rafe took a few minutes to unpack essentials and organize things so that when he got hit with the inevitable two and four o’clock feedings he wouldn’t be stumbling around half-awake trying to find them. He set the portable bed up in the corner, out of the way, but not too far from his own bed, and spread things out on the dresser to make a changing table.
“It looks like home sweet home, Peanut,” he said as he surveyed his handiwork. Peanut cooed in response, waving his arms and legs from where he lay in the middle of the floor on a blanket.
“Guess we ought to go down, huh? Maybe I can learn a little more about your uncle Nate.”
And didn’t that sound weird? He was having trouble thinking of himself as a father, and thinking of a stranger as the kid’s uncle—well, it was some kind of reality shift.
But what was new? Since the night Raquel had died, everything in his life had been mixed up. He’d better just get used to it.
With the baby in one arm, the diaper bag over his shoulder and a soiled diaper in his other hand, he went downstairs. Gage and Emma were seated at the table in the kitchen, chatting quietly. Rafe felt as though he were intruding, but they both looked at him with warm smiles and invited him to join them.
“I need to get rid of this first,” he said, holding up the diaper.
“Out here.” Gage took it from him and showed him the trash can in the little enclosed porch just off the kitchen.
He sat at the table with them, and there was a moment’s awkward silence, broken by the baby’s cooing.
“He’s wide-awake, isn’t he?” Emma said.
“It’s his playtime. He’s not sleeping as much as he did at first, though.” End of that conversational avenue. He tried to think of another one.
“So,” said Gage finally, “are you on vacation?”
“I guess you could say that.” That was how it was marked back at the office. So far it hadn’t really felt like one. He knew what they really wanted to know, though, and figured he might as well take the bull by the horns. “The kid’s mom died when he was born.”
“I’m sorry,” they said at the same time.
Rafe shrugged. He didn’t want to get into that. “Anyway, me and Peanut are hiding out for a while, right, kid?”
Peanut apparently agreed, gurgling and waving an arm.
“Well, this is a great place to hide out,” Emma said. “Goodness knows, I hid out here myself for a long time.”
“Me, too,” Gage agreed.
“Me, too,” said a lovely female voice from behind him. Rafe craned his neck to see a small, slender blonde standing in the doorway, looking as if she’d just woken up.
Rafe started to rise to his feet, an instinct he hadn’t felt in a long time, but Gage put his hand on his shoulder, telling him to remain seated. Gage rose, though.
“Angela, this is Rafe Ortiz and his son. Rafe, Angela Jaynes.”
The blonde came toward him and offered her hand. He shook it, feeling delicate bones beneath warm skin. Her smile was soft, a little uncertain, and he reckoned she wasn’t used to men with ponytails and diamond earrings.
She turned her attention to the baby then, and for once he was glad of the instinctive response in women. Something about her blue eyes...something wistful... He shook his head, trying to shake off the pull he felt.
“What a little sweetheart,” Angela said. She reached out, and Peanut grabbed her finger, hanging on for dear life. Then Angela laughed, a light, lovely sound that brought an answering smile to all the faces around her.
“What a grip!” she said.
“He is pretty strong,” Rafe agreed, not even bothering to fight the fatherly pride he was suddenly feeling.
“I suppose he’ll give me back my finger sooner or later.” Angela took the seat beside Rafe, letting the baby continue to cling to her finger. “What’s his name?”
“Rafael Jr. But I call him Peanut.”
She nodded. “That’s cute. I like it.” Then she looked around the table, her smile lingering on her lips. “So we’re all hiding out here, huh? Escapees from the larger, crueler world?”
Everyone laughed. Everyone except Rafe. He hadn’t really thought of himself that way, but it kind of fit.
Angela turned to Rafe. “Gage said you were with the D.E.A.?”
He nodded, caution filling him. He didn’t much like it when people started asking questions.
“What exactly do you do?” she asked.
It was an innocent question; even Rafe knew that. But it put him on edge, anyway. “I go after drug traffickers,” he said finally.
“Undercover?” Her eyes widened a little, signifying her interest.
“Sometimes,” he replied noncommittally.
“That must be...scary.”
Scary? He didn’t think of it as scary. Most of the time it was sheer fun or dirty, hard work. He got an adrenaline rush from it, but he didn’t remember ever being scared until Manny had found him at home and wanted to see the baby. “What do you do?” he asked her, wanting to change the subject.
“I was a bank loan officer.” She grimaced, and her wistful eyes grew sad. He wondered what had happened but didn’t ask. “I made my living being nasty to nice people.”
He nodded slowly. “You do what you have to.” He’d been doing that his entire life.
“I guess. But I’m not going to do it anymore.” She brightened, a visible effort, and turned to Emma. “What can I do to help with dinner?”
“How about setting the dining room table? I thought we’d be more comfortable out there.”
Rafe watched the women rise and gather up the dishes and utensils. Then he and Gage were alone in the kitchen.
Gage spoke in a low voice. “Is somebody after you?”
Rafe shrugged. “Maybe.” It was true.
The other man nodded. “You hide out here as long as you need to, Rafe.”
“Thanks. I should get this mess cleaned up within a couple of weeks, though.” If that long. Once he knew whether Tate would take the kid, and whether he wanted to leave the kid here, there would be no reason to stay. Funny how what had originally looked like a good way to handle an inconvenience had become the linchpin on which the rest of his life depended. He looked down at the baby in his arms and met that unnerving, steady stare.
Blank slate? Not likely, he found himself thinking. There was something going on in this baby’s head.
He looked at Gage. “Your kids grow up?” He was surprised by the way the other man’s face seemed to freeze.
“What do you mean?”
“You said you used to have kids. They grow up? Or did you get divorced?”
Gage’s answer was clipped. “Car bomb.”
Rafe could have nailed his tongue to the wall then, as he remembered “That was you,” he said haplessly. “God, I’m sorry....”
He’d heard about it Hell, everyone in the agency had heard about the guy whose family had been blown up right before Christmas.... Damn, he should have thought of that. It explained the scar on Gage’s cheek, the rasp of his voice. They said he hadn’t stopped screaming for days....
“I’m sorry,” Rafe said again. “I didn’t know it was you.”
Gage made a gesture, as if to wipe it all away.
Rafe looked down at the bundle in his arms, feeling something he hadn’t felt in a long time: fear.
“Anyway,” Gage said after a moment, “you can count on me. For as long as you need.”
Rafe believed it. For the first time in a very long time, he felt a stirring of real trust. The feeling made him uneasy, as uneasy as the baby’s steady stare. The world was going cockeyed on him.
“Just don’t say anything to Emma or Angela about it,” Gage said. “Angela’s here for a rest, and Emma—well, Emma has some bad things of her own in her past. I don’t want them worrying.”
Rafe nodded. “That’s fine by me. I don’t like telling everyone my business, anyway.”
Gage cracked an unexpected laugh. “You’ve been spending too much time on the streets, Rafe.”
Maybe he had, he thought, looking down at his son again. Maybe he had.
Chapter 2
Seeing as how Peanut didn’t care that he’d moved to the Mountain time zone, the 2:00 a.m. feeding happened around midnight. Which was fine with Rafe, because he hadn’t fallen asleep yet.
Unfortunately, though, when he opened the can of premixed formula he’d left on the bedside table, he discovered it was spoiled.
The baby was crying his little head off, red in the face, angry about the hunger pangs in his stomach. Nothing pitiable about this kid, Rafe thought. Hell, no. He was a scrapper.
He picked the infant up and headed downstairs, hoping the peanut didn’t wake the entire world with his caterwauling. Then it occurred to him that he’d bought all the formula he had at the same store in Kansas City. What if it was all spoiled? He doubted this flyspeck of a town had any place he could buy formula in the middle of the night.
The kitchen light was on, he saw as he approached. The glow seeped around the edges of the closed door. Well, there was at least one person in the house that Peanut wouldn’t be waking.
He found Angela Jaynes sitting at the table in her cotton terry-cloth bathrobe, nibbling on some crackers and drinking a glass of milk.
“Sorry,” he said, pausing just inside the door. “Didn’t mean to bother you.”
“You’re not bothering me.” She gave him a wan smile. “Sounds like you have a problem.”
Peanut let out another ear-splitting wail.
“Yeah, he’s hungry. The can of formula I had upstairs was spoiled. There’s more in the fridge.”
Angela rose from the table. “Let me get it for you Want me to pour it in the bottle?”
“Sure, but rinse it first. Thanks.”
He’d forgotten to bring the can opener down, so Angela had to hunt for one. With nothing else to do, Rafe patted Peanut’s bottom, bouncing him gently as he paced back and forth.
“How can I tell if it’s spoiled?” Angela asked when she found the can opener.
“The last one was lumpy.”
“Okay. How much do I pour?”
“Four ounces, a little more. He’ll eat what he wants.”
; “Really? You don’t have to measure exactly?”
Rafe, who was used to women he didn’t even know telling him how to hold the baby and how to feed him, was surprised to have a woman asking him as if he were the expert. “Yeah. I only have to pay attention in case he starts eating less than usual.”
“That must be nice.”
“What do you mean?”
She didn’t answer. “What now?”
“Warm it in a little hot water, will you? I don’t know if it would hurt him to get it right out of the fridge, but he’s not used to it. Why risk it?”
She nodded and ran the bottle under the tap for a few minutes, then shook some on her wrist, just like a pro. “It’s okay now.” She handed it to him.
He popped the nipple into the baby’s open mouth. It took a couple of seconds for Peanut to realize that food was at hand, but as soon as he did, silence, blissful silence, reigned.
Rafe blew a breath of relief. “Man, he’s got a pair of lungs.”
Angela laughed and returned to her seat. She nibbled a cracker and sipped milk, watching Rafe walk the floor as he fed the baby. For a few minutes there was no sound except the child’s contented sucking and the father’s slow, steady footfalls.
Then he remembered that Angela hadn’t answered his question. He paused and looked at her. “What did you mean, it must be nice that I don’t have to measure exactly what he eats?”
She hunched a little and looked down at her plate. When she looked up, her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m diabetic. I have to watch everything I eat.”
“Really? That must be a pain.”
“I’ve been doing it since I was eight. You’d think I’d be used to it by now.”
“No...no...” he said slowly. “I can see how it would be difficult. Especially when everybody around you eats whatever they want whenever they want.”
“Well,” she said, squaring her shoulders, “most of the time I just do it without thinking too much about it. I’m pretty good at eyeballing food and guessing portions.”
