The Hitman's Baby - A Bad Boy Secret Baby Romance (With extra added bonus novel for a short time only!)

by Ashley Rhodes

  I ignored the comment. I should have set him straight, but couldn’t quite bring myself to do it with any strength. Instead, I rounded the foot of the hospital bed and took his other foot, more gently this time, and took it through the same tests. As I did, I snuck another look at his bruised face.

  His nose was off kilter, I realized, looking at it from this angle. Broken, yes—but not just recently. This guy had been in more than a few fights, I decided. It was a wonder I hadn’t seen him in here before. That same hardness in his body was in his eyes as well.

  However, as he watched my hands, I saw something else there. Something about him… he watched intently and there was a raw kind of honesty there. Not artifice, no pretense. This was a guy who would tell you how he felt, what he was thinking, without holding back. Obviously, there was no filter between his brain and his mouth.

  His eyes flickered up from my work on his ankle and he caught me looking again. He brushed a hand through his closely cropped dark hair.

  “Like what you see?” He asked, smiling with a cracked set of teeth that were tinted red in places from where his gums had apparently bled. “I’m a little sore right now, but if you climb on top and promise to be gentle with me…”

  My face flooded with heat. And not all of it anger. Damn it Yvonne. I blamed her, she’d put the ideas in my head.

  “Let’s keep this professional, Mr. Hawke,” I said. But it took an effort to sound as exasperated as I had with Mr. Bradberry.

  He grunted, shrugged, clenched his jaw. His eyes closed tightly against the apparent pain of that, too, and he finally snorted softly as the pain either passed or sank back down to his considerable threshold. “Worth a try. I’m going fuckin’ insane staring at these walls.”

  “I’ll let you off easy on account of the concussion,” I sighed. I finished with his leg and paused before pushing myself to approach the upper part of the bed. “I need to check your ribs for damage, see how much of it is in the muscle. It’s probably going to hurt.” He didn’t react. “A lot.”

  His chest rose and fell with a careful sigh, and he nodded. “Do it.”

  I did try to be gentle now, as much as I could. Broken ribs could be tortuously painful, no matter how used to pain you were, and I was guessing that Mr. Hawke had a considerable threshold for it. There was no getting around the need to know the extent of the damage, though. He could take it for a minute.

  I prodded the spaces between his ribs with my fingers, carefully, but his body tensed with spasm. He didn’t stop me, but as I continued down the rows of intercostals, sweat beaded up on his forehead and his hands began to grip the sheets of the bed tightly. None the less, he didn’t complain, or tell me to stop, or even make a sound.

  He got props for that, at least. Asshole or not, he wasn’t all show. He was genuinely tough.

  Then again, maybe the painkillers were working.

  I finished, shutting down the part of my brain that noticed just how thick the muscle over his chest was, how solid the muscles of his upper abdomen that lined the lower ribs. No no no. Off limits. And after what he’d said before, it was a point of pride.

  “Okay,” I said when I was done. “That’s enough for the first examination, Mr. Hawke.”

  His eyes fluttered open. There were different, now. Tired, maybe, and softer than before. Maybe he realized now just how bad off he was. “Call me Jack,” he grunted. “I don’t want none of this ‘mister Hawke’ crap. Jack.” He gave off a concussive quality, driving the point home hard, and just like that the softness left his eyes.

  He looked me over again, and I felt opposing urges to pose for him or cover myself up. So I froze to avoid doing either and giving him a reaction. “And if you ain’t a doc,” he asked, “I can’t call you that, can I?”

  I shrugged. “Call me Ms. Ellis.”

  “Not married then?” He asked.

  I cursed silently. Should have taken the chance to shut him down. “No,” I said, instead of telling him I had a boyfriend. Not that I did. But that worked with enough of these jerks.

  He smiled. And there was real warmth there. It was brief. A subtle nod of respect, maybe. Had I won this round, then? His eyes were striking, I realized. Well, his left eye was, anyway. How could he manage to retain any kind of good looking face under all that?

  “I’d rather call you Naomi,” he said. “I like how it sounds.”

  My stomach fluttered. I cleared my throat at the same time I felt it, trying to banish it. This guy? Really? Get a hold of yourself, for God’s sake. “That’s fine,” I said.

  “So, now that we’re introduced,” I said, sinking into the chair next to his bed.

  He shifted a little in the bed before I could go on. “I know I been brave so far, Naomi,” he said my name like it tasted good. How did he do that? “But I think I’m gonna need a little break before you put those dainty little hands of your on me again, sweetheart.”

  “No,” I said flatly, “no the session is over. I’ll draw up a treatment plan and we’ll start in earnest tomorrow.”

  “Okay, so what else is left?” he asked

  I didn’t know why I was doing it. He was obviously some kind of fighter, or maybe a hired thug for one of the scumbags that called this city home. He had that kind of look, but his vibe was… something else. He didn’t seem cruel, just defensive and vulnerable. He wasn’t used to being laid up like this.

  “Jack… are you sure you don’t want to talk about what happened?” I asked. “We have resources and programs in place to help people like you, who—”

  “’People like me’?” Jack snapped. Defenses back up, just like that. “Look lady, I appreciate you helpin’ me with my injuries, or whatever you have planned for me, but let’s leave it there, OK?”

  That should have been that, but as soon as he put his hackles up, mine went up right up with them. “If you don’t want to talk to me, fine. But I can put you in touch with the relevant people and you can talk to them and—”

  “I don’t want or need any ‘people’, got it?” Jack said, his voice louder now. “I’m perfectly capable of dealing with any problems that I may or may not have, myself. That’s gotten me this far, and I ain’t about to start relying on the kindness of strangers now.”

  “Jack—”

  He sat up, his anger suddenly a white-hot presence. “Enough! I said no, and I meant it. Deal with it.” He cut the air with his hand for emphasis, as though that killed the conversation.

  I shook my head and got to my feet. Why did I bother? Every time, it was the same. A hot body and a maybe-handsome face didn’t make him different. Not really.

  Goddamn idiot. Next time it won’t be me attending you, it’ll be the coroner.

  We were, as he said, done with this conversation. So I made my way to the door and opened it. Just as I stepped through it though, Jack’s voice rang out, full of cocksure braggado, like his last outburst had never happened.

  “Naomi,” he said. I looked, against my better judgment. He grinned. “Just so you know, I ain’t mad. My previous offer ain’t retracted. Just letting you know.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Get some rest, Mr. Hawke.”

  I had enough time as I closed the door to see him affect a dramatically wounded look, still smiling with those cracked teeth. I rolled my eyes.

  But I couldn’t help the hint of a smile that crawled into my lips as I walked away.

  Damnit. Just what I needed; a head case getting in my head. I did my best to push it all out of my mind as I charged away to my next patient, suddenly eager to move on.

  Chapter 2

  Naomi

  After a day like that, all I really wanted to do was go home, sink into a steaming bath and pass out there. And maybe drown. Well, I wasn’t that far gone, yet; so instead I agreed to meet my sister and our friend Jason for dinner. Lots of wine was an implied perk of putting off my soak.

  Nicola is older than me, and takes after our father. She’s got his dark, piercing eyes, my mother always sai
d. Dad always said I was the spitting image of our mother; same hair, same jaw, same build. I couldn’t decide which of us got the better end of the bargain. Nic was tall, and effortlessly beautiful, the kind that just wakes up that way. At the end of my day I felt ragged, worn hard and hung up wet; it was hard to tell if Nic ever had a bad hair day. I didn’t think so.

  Jason had been my best friend since we were too young to tie our own shoes. Or, since he was, anyway. He wore velcro shoes until we were almost ten. Even then he’d been a stickler for everything to fit squarely in its place. Throughout our teenage years, and especially the year mom passed, he was a fixed point of orderly, grounding calm in a turbulent life. I was the one that prophesied his future career as a cop, and took all the credit when he announced he was going to the academy.

  These two were the two pins that kept me standing up straight some days. Lots of days. Come to think of it, lately it had been most days.

  “And you didn’t report him to the doctor, or resident nurse manager or… whoever handles that?” Nic asked, incredulous when I told her about my encounter with Jack Hawke. Nic didn’t take shit from anyone, but then, she only received it once in a while working sales management at a department store. She didn’t have the tolerance, or the exhaustion, that I did.

  “He’d been beaten to a pulp,” I countered, swirling the last few sips of something red and sweet and high octane in my glass. We were only a few blocks from my apartment; I felt entirely justified getting wasted if I so chose. I hadn’t, yet. “It’s entirely possible he has a concussion. He wouldn’t let the doctors put him in an MRI or even joke about surgery. He looks like maybe a boxer, or something? So, it might not be his first one. Besides, I’ve put up with so much worse, Nic. I’m working with a lower spine recovery for an injured Alzheimer's patient that intentionally pissed on me once. Pissed on my leg. So, as long as this Hawke guy is all talk, I consider myself well in the green. I can handle that just fine.”

  “And when he isn’t just talk?” Jason asked. Here we go. It was sweet that he was always looking after me, but there were times when it bordered on helicopter-brother. “You know who spends a lot of time in hospitals recovering from beatings? Criminals. You don’t know anything about this guy; for all you know he’s capable of sexual assault. You should have him reassigned to a male therapist.”

  “I’ll try to be careful,” I said, “but honestly I don’t think he could rape a coma patient in his current state.”

  “Nomi!” Nic said, glancing around us to see if anyone heard me. She was the only one that dropped the ‘a’ from my name. She did it because of Elizabeth Berkley’s character from Show Girls—a guilty pleasure we share; that movie is so awful it’s brilliant.

  Scandalized or not, she was smiling.

  Jason wasn’t. “He’ll recover, with your help,” he said, “and what then?”

  “Lay off her, Jas,” Nic said. She rolled her eyes. “What’s he going to do in a hospital? You could always request guard duty at Saint Michael’s. Keep an eye on her and all that.” The last bit was delivered with just a hint of… something. Something that was entirely lost on Jason, who tended to keep his eyes on me most of the time.

  Nic had it bad for Jason. She had basically forever, but the three of us were all so constantly busy that when we were out, we were out together. It was nice, but every time I got the call I thought about telling them I couldn’t do it. Give them some alone time. Maybe then the two of them could stop trying to micromanage my life for me, and maybe Jas would realize that Nic spent most of the time making puppy dog eyes at him. Besides, of the three of us, only I’ve got two bachelor’s degrees. Just saying. I can take care of my own shit.

  Jason quieted down, though, for now. Cowed by the mighty goddess Nicola.

  “If you want my opinion,” Nic said, before she gave it to me regardless, “a man like that needs a little bit of civilizing. You wanted this work, these challenges, so, now you’re getting them. The good lord answers prayers, right? Maybe this is a chance to make a real difference. You’re good at this, hon. Also,” she cut eyes at Jason, “men get vulnerable when they’re hurt. They’re not strong like us. He’s just playing the defensive is my bet.”

  Jason snorted, chewed a hunk of chicken from among the largely untouched pasta on his plate. Gotta watch those carbs, officer?

  “You and Yvonne,” I sighed. “You’re soul mates, I swear. She went all moon eyed over him, to boot. But I get it. I’ll be strong, carry on, lug the torch or whatever they say.”

  “Moon eyed?” Jason asked curiously. He paused, watching me, another chunk of grilled chicken halfway to his mouth.

  “Do tell,” Nic agreed. “You didn’t say anything about him being ‘moon eyed’ worthy. What are you leaving out, Nomi?”

  I backpedaled. “I didn’t say he was worthy of it or anything. Yvonne’s… mature. She’s got tastes. Not my tastes. I’m not into him. I mean he’s not my type. Both of those things. Guys, I’m a professional; I see people at their worst. Believe me, when you’ve seen the shit I’ve seen—literally, the shit I’ve seen—they’re all just broken bodies in need of fixing. I don’t even see muscles anymore.”

  “Oooh,” Nic crooned, “muscles? Has he got muscles?”

  I drained my wine, and waved the glass at a peeking waiter for another one. “I could lose my license for things like that, Nic,” I said, seriously. “It doesn’t cross my mind, okay? He’s about as attractive right now as a train wreck.”

  “He might get better,” She shrugged, then sighed, and gently lifted Jason’s hand the rest of the way to his mouth to kick-start his eating process again.

  “This is me officially ending this conversation,” I said. Always, always Nic had poked fun at me for my choice of men, or thrown men at me, or criticized my lack of interest in certain men. She couldn’t decide if she was my older sister, or my Jewish mother.

  “Acknowledged,” Nic made a mock salute with her wine. My second glass arrived, and I considered asking for a third in advance.

  I sighed, shook my head, and took a long swallow of it.

  “Well, that covers Nomi,” Nic said. She nudged Jason. “What about you, Officer Desouza? Catch any dangerous criminals lately?”

  Jason chewed his food, swallowed, and wiped his mouth before he spoke. “Two arrests today. Big ones, actually. Low level mafia, we think.” ‘We’ always meant ‘the law’ when Jason talked about work. He thought of himself as an extension of it. “They haven’t talked yet, but we’re pretty sure they work for Peter Valentino. Mob boss. If they turn over on him, we might finally get the guy.” He frowned from the bad taste of it all. “DA will probably make an immunity deal if it gets that far. Putting them back on the street would be idiocy, but that’s how Richmond works.” Jason would have people who double parked serving time. Not that I disagreed with him entirely.

  “So how did it go down?” Nic asked. She loved his war stories.

  Jason glanced at her, shrugged, sipped his diet coke. “We got a call, possible two-forty. That’s assault. Showed up, found two Caucasian males, mid-thirties, already pretty banged up themselves, beating a young African-American male, maybe early twenties. Chuck and I intercepted, arrested both men.” Chuck was Jason’s partner, a big guy you wouldn’t want angry at you, much less pointing a firearm.

  “Did they resist?” Nic asked.

  Jason shook his head. “They know better. These two have been in and out of the system, they practically have reserved bunks at County.”

  “A little anti-climactic,” I commented.

  “They went on for a minute about how we were making a mistake,” Jason said, maybe in an attempt to make it all more interesting although it wasn’t in him to lie about anything, much less an arrest. “Said the kid was a drug dealer, they were just cleaning up the garbage. No drugs on the kid, though, and he’s in college, so they were probably hoping we’d profile him. We didn’t; he went to the Saint Michael’s, critical care. David Samson,” Jason said to
me. “You can check up on him if you like. Tell him I said the guys that beat him up are in jail.”

  If I checked up on every person Jason saved, I’d never get any work done. He worked the ‘beat’—his job consisted largely of intervening in these kinds of affairs. “Yeah,” I said anyway. “I’ll drop by.” If he was still in CCU, he was probably not in any shape for visitors.

  Jason just nodded a little like he appreciated it.

  “You guys read them the riot act?” Nic asked playfully. “Give those thugs the long arm of the law?”

  “We read them their rights,” Jason said evenly. He did have a sense of humor, it was just a secretive, quiet creature that spent most of its life underground. Deep, deep underground. “Especially with all the shootings that have gone down in the past few years,” he went on, “we have to be careful what we say and do during an arrest. Stick to the rules. Being a cop is as much—”

  “About self-control as controlling the situation,” Nic finished. “We know. Good job, Officer Desouza. We’re all safer with you out there fighting the good fight.”

  Jason glanced at Nic again, gave a quiet huff of near-humor, and cheered her with his diet coke.

  “Naomi gets it,” Jason said. “Don’t you?” He was looking at me.

  “I rarely handcuff anyone,” I said. “And certainly not at work.”

  Jason’s cheeks took on just a hint of pink. “I meant, you know, self-control. Instead of blowing up at this Hawke guy like you wanted to, you kept your cool. Controlled the situation. Let him know how things stood, patient and therapist. Right?”

  He was digging. I wanted to glare at Nic for putting ideas in his head. “Exactly,” I said. “You can’t let them run you, or they’ll run right over.” I finished my second glass of wine. Maybe if I left now, while Nic and Jason still had food and drinks in front of them, they’d hang out alone and get their hooks into one another instead of into me. But, I didn’t have a bottle at home, and a third glass really did feel like it would do the trick.