INTERRUPTED LULLABY

by Valery Parv

Reaction began to set in and she pulled a stool toward her and slumped on to it. "What could he have to report? That the roses are in full bloom? There can't be anything else because there isn't anything. We have to accept it and go on." He had to accept it, she told herself.

  He heard the rising note in her voice. "Are you all right?"

  She almost laughed. "I'm perfectly fine. I was chased across a park by a strange man. It's every woman's idea of a good time."

  "Are you at home?"

  "Yes, but…" Sensing his intention, she started to say she was going out but he got in first.

  "Stay there. I can be there in ten minutes."

  "There's no need, I'm all right," she assured him but the phone went dead. He was on his way.

  When the doorbell pealed, she thought of pretending she wasn't home, but he was quite capable of breaking the door down. She looked around frantically, then settled on mussing some cushions on the couch and opening a magazine to make it look as if she hadn't been pacing up and down, waiting for his arrival.

  Not so long ago, she would have thrown herself into his embrace and they would have kissed deeply, she recalled, feeling her breath catch. It wouldn't have mattered if they'd seen each other hours or minutes before. Every reunion was like the first time. Now she fought the urge to go to him, instead fiddling with the pages of the magazine. "You didn't have to rush over here. I'm not in a Victorian swoon."

  He dropped into a chair across from her, as elegant as a prowling cat, a very large, pantherish cat, she thought. He looked tired, as if the demands of his work had him approaching some sort of limit. That it might not only be his work, she wouldn't let herself consider.

  "You sounded upset," he said.

  Had it taken so little to bring him to her side? She made herself remember that this was all in a day's work to Zeke. He had hired the investigator in case the flower was tied in with his current story.

  She shook her head, not sure what she was denying. "I was upset, but I'm getting over it. If your friend in the park had touched me, he'd probably be out cold on the grass by now."

  His expression was amused but she saw concern darken his eyes and it gave her a completely unwarranted boost. "I'd forgotten you took those self-defense classes a couple of years ago, but I should caution you, Bill has a few moves of his own."

  So did Zeke, she recalled, driving the thought away. This wasn't the time or the place. "It's surprising what you can do when you're cornered."

  "I'm sorry you felt that way. I only asked Bill to investigate because I wanted answers."

  She began to roll a corner of the magazine between thumb and forefinger. "You always want answers, Zeke, but they don't always exist."

  He leaned forward, resting his bent arms on his knees. "A lot of people wanted me to think so when I started digging into the baby farming story. If it hadn't been for one employee with a conscience, I wouldn't have gotten past first base."

  "Is she the anonymous contact you mentioned on the radio?"

  His eyes narrowed. "How do you know whether my contact is male or female? I carefully avoided giving any clue to their identity."

  Tara had spoken without thinking. "I don't know. I assumed it's the sort of situation that would trouble a woman more than a man."

  He straightened and glowered at her. "Where on earth did you get that idea?"

  "I don't know, I only thought…"

  "That a man can't feel about a baby the way a woman feels? The way you feel?" he demanded, looking as if he was about to leap out of the chair and take her by the throat. He sounded as if he was talking about more than the story.

  "Of course not." She thought of Carol's comment about the way he had treated the puppy, and had to suppress another image of him interacting with a small child. "Men and women regard attachments differently. You hear of more men walking out on their families than women deserting their children."

  "True. The men are the ones driven to suicide or violence after being denied access to their children."

  "There are no winners in these situations," she said, thinking of herself and Zeke. Fairness made her ask, "Is your informant a man?"

  He shook his head, but looked gratified. "No admissions, even to you, sorry."

  "I understand. Given the kind of people who would sell babies, your informant probably put themselves at great risk by coming to you."

  He nodded. "More than you know."

  She was relieved to have the discussion back on neutral ground. "What about the culprits?"

  "The people we can identify are all small fish. The biggest fish, the doctor who organized the whole baby swapping scheme, has gone underground, last heard of heading for South America. There's a former midwife at the hospital I'd like to talk to about records that were altered. So would the police, for that matter. But he's disappeared, too."

  She could see how the admission outraged Zeke's strong sense of justice. "What about the babies?"

  His expression cleared. "We've had more success there. One of the children is due to be reunited with her real parents today. The story will be on the news tonight if you care to watch."

  Tara sensed his elation and rejoiced for him. "I wouldn't miss it. What will happen to the people who handed over money in exchange for a baby?"

  "One couple was arrested this morning. They carry the gene for cystic fibrosis and were too old to adopt, so decided to help themselves to someone else's child."

  "It must be terrible to be that desperate."

  Zeke frowned at her. "Don't feel sorry for them. Their attorney has already started playing the sympathy card for all it's worth. Remember they allowed another couple to believe their baby died. They don't deserve an ounce of your pity."

  "You're right." She saw him flip open his cell phone. "Who are you calling?"

  "Bill Ellison, the private investigator."

  Tara swallowed hard. While they talked she had almost forgotten the man who had followed her. Now she wondered what he had been so anxious to tell her.

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  « ^ »

  Zeke listened for a few seconds then he closed the phone with a snap of annoyance. "Recorded message. He's turned his blasted phone off."

  Relief flooded through her. The investigator's news couldn't be too urgent or he would have made an effort to locate Zeke. "Maybe he's gone home for the day," she said.

  "Good thought," he agreed. He keyed in another number and waited, swearing again as he encountered what she gathered was another recording. He dropped the cell phone into his top pocket. "No luck there, either."

  "Maybe he didn't have much to report, after all," she said. "You could be right, he was only trying to say hello."

  Zeke's scowl deepened. "I don't have time to chase after him. When you called, I was on my way to the television studio to take part in a panel discussion." He consulted his watch. "Luckily the program is taped but the producer is probably pacing the floor, wondering where I am."

  "I didn't intend to hold you up," she said.

  "It was my choice. I wanted to be sure you were all right," he said. He rubbed his hands over his jaw. "After the week I've had, one more television interview more or less won't make any difference."

  "You've become a real celebrity." She couldn't keep the pride out of her voice.

  He heard it, too, and looked at her in surprise. Hadn't he expected her to care? They shared too much history for her not to feel proud of his achievements, especially this time, when his work had done so much public good. She said so.

  A half smile ghosted across his face. "I doubt if the people who sold the babies will agree with you. After ten months, they probably thought they were home free."

  She nodded. But for Zeke's efforts, those children might never have been reunited with their real families, she thought, feeling her blood chill. "The babies that were taken were too young to know they'd ever had any other parents."

  "They will now." He stood up with an obvious effort. "The on
ly downside of being a so-called celebrity is being accosted in the street by people who think they know you after seeing you on the news. Even doing the daily editorial for the morning show didn't attract this kind of attention."

  Aware of the danger of straying into areas of intimacy again, she tried to sound light. "Poor baby. Do you have hordes of teenage women chasing you down the street demanding your autograph and trying to tear your clothes off?"

  His shadow fell across her. "It's no joke. Yesterday I was in the men's room when a man stood alongside me and wanted to talk about the story."

  He really did resent the attention, she understood. A lesser man would have reveled in it, but all Zeke wanted was to write his story and know he'd made a difference in people's lives. It was all he had ever wanted. "It will die down," she said, knowing he knew it as well as she did. They had both shared the limelight often enough to understand how it worked. "In the meantime, focus on the good you're doing."

  His eyes flashed gratitude at her understanding. "I only wish there was more of it, but I got onto the story too late. The trail was already getting cold." He grimaced then said, "I'd better go." But he seemed reluctant to leave. "Can I see you tomorrow? I'd come after I finish the taping, but it's liable to go on until all hours."

  His offer tempted her more than he knew. It would be so easy to welcome him back into her life with open arms, the way she had already welcomed him into her bed. But that way lay heartache on a scale she wasn't prepared to put herself through again. "I don't think so. I'm going away tomorrow."

  "Going away where?"

  It pleased her to see that he didn't welcome the news. It wouldn't change anything but she was woman enough to be glad he didn't want her to leave.

  "I'm flying to Melbourne, renting a car and driving to Phillip Island to check out the cottage. If I like it, I'll stay for a few days. Then later, I'll arrange a longer stay and make a start on the book."

  She felt his resistance to the idea of the trip as he frowned. "I'd rather you didn't leave Sydney until I speak with Bill Ellison."

  Her temper flared. "And find out what? That I was right all along and some poor grieving relative left a flower in the wrong place. Leave it alone, can't you? This concerns our child, not your story, and having you poke and pry at it brings it all back. It hurts too much."

  She hadn't intended to break down, but suddenly her breath came in great gulps and her eyes burned. She turned away, her knuckles whitening on the edge of the table as she fought for self-control.

  "Don't, please, Tara. I don't want to distress you."

  She kept her back turned. "Well, you're succeeding brilliantly. I wish I'd never taken you to the park in the first place."

  "You're forgetting one thing. This involves me, too," he said quietly.

  She swung around, feeling her eyes blaze. The censure froze on her lips at the undisguised suffering she saw on his chiseled features. He must be dead tired to let her see it, she thought, and steeled herself not to weaken, although she longed to offer him the comfort of her arms. "I see. You're getting even with me for shutting you out."

  She recognized the moment when the shutters came down on the transparent feelings and he became Zeke Blaxland, Reporter of Steel, again. While it made him easier to deal with, she yearned for the other Zeke who had emotions she could reach out and touch. She'd had enough fleeting glimpses to know that that Zeke would be far easier to love, and far harder to leave. She should probably be thankful he didn't appear often.

  "That's nonsense and you know it," he said tautly.

  She swallowed the sympathy welling up inside her. His dismissal of her concern was so typical that she wondered if she had imagined the thoughtfulness of a moment before. "Call it nonsense if you like, but you can't grieve as long as you insist on clutching at straws. It only lengthens the process." She ought to know. She had fought against her loss with everything in her, only to discover that denial was as normal a part of grieving as eventual acceptance.

  He nodded coolly. "Perhaps you're right, but I have to do this my way."

  She almost laughed. "You always did."

  He stepped closer. "Don't go to Phillip Island yet. Wait a few more days."

  If she did, she would probably not go at all. "My flight is booked."

  "At least tell me where I can reach you."

  She wished she had the courage to tell him she didn't want him to contact her, but the words refused to come and they wouldn't be true, anyway. "There's a phone at the cottage. I don't know the number yet, but my cell phone number is still the same."

  Why did she tell him that? she wondered. She had practically invited him to get in touch. Why couldn't she make up her mind what she wanted?

  As she berated herself, he went to the table and studied a map showing the location of the cottage, and the photographs that had been given to her as the successful bidder at the auction. She'd been looking at them before going to lunch with Carol. "Is this the place?"

  She nodded, wishing she'd had the foresight to put them away. "It's not far from Cowes, where my grandparents lived after retiring from farming."

  He picked up a photo showing the cottage set against a vibrant seascape with seals swimming in the background. "It looks beautiful. Peaceful and relaxing."

  She heard what he didn't say. Peace was at a premium in his life at present. She bit back the invitation trying to force its way past her lips. "I think so. I haven't been back since my grandmother's funeral so I hope it hasn't changed too much."

  "Probably gotten busier like the rest of us," he said.

  The slump of his shoulders and the wistful note she heard in his voice was her undoing. "You could use some time in a place like that."

  Speculation lit the gaze he turned on her. "Is that an invitation?"

  She didn't know what it was. She only knew she could hardly stand seeing him like this. "I only meant you look tired."

  "Concern for me, Tara?"

  "I always was concerned about you. Not that you took much notice."

  He glanced at the photographs. "Maybe I will, this time. How many bedrooms does this cottage of yours have?"

  She felt tension grip her again. She had brought the question on herself by opening the way to this discussion, and it was too late to take it back. "Are you thinking of coming to the island?" she asked carefully.

  "Do you want me to?"

  Why did it always have to be up to her? He never deferred to her on anything else, except where their relationship was involved. Resentment bristled through her at being forced to take all the responsibility yet again. "You don't usually base your actions on my wishes. Why start now?"

  "Why not?" He prowled restlessly around the room, picking up some of the small Capodimonte figurines she had collected over the years, inspecting then replacing them. He must have seen them before, but his actions suggested he was really seeing them for the first time. Was something similar happening to the way he saw her? she wondered. She dismissed the thought as fanciful. However much she wished it, Zeke wasn't going to change.

  "After the taping and tonight's reunion, I could take a couple of days off and spend them on the island," he said.

  She shook her head. "The amount of space isn't the issue. The cottage belongs to a wealthy Melbourne family so I'm sure there's plenty of room."

  His eyebrows drew together. "Then what is the issue?"

  "You're asking me if I want you to come but what do you want?"

  "This isn't the right time…"

  "Exactly my point. You have time to dig every last detail out of a story, even if you have to go without food and sleep to do it. I'm not saying it's wrong, especially when as much good comes of it as it has this time. But when it comes to us, you still expect me to make all the running."

  It was so clear now, so obvious that it was a wonder it hadn't dawned on her before. "When you decided to go to America, you never said you wanted me to come with you. You talked about the fantastic career opportunities,
the fun we could have seeing the sights, but you didn't come out and say you needed me with you."

  "I didn't want to pressure you. It had to be your decision."

  She shook her head furiously. "It should have been our decision, by mutual agreement. Instead, you set it up so the whole burden fell on me. My choice to go or to stay, to keep the relationship alive or to finish it. If you had admitted you needed me, just once…" She couldn't go on, and busied herself tidying the photos on the table.

  His hand claimed hers, stilling the jerky movements. "I may not have said I needed you, but you must have known it."

  She lifted shining eyes to him. "I told myself you did, but then you left the country and next thing I heard, you were involved with someone else."

  He gave a rueful half smile. "I see what you mean. There's a Zulu quote that says, 'I cannot hear what you say for the thunder of what you are.'"

  "Actions speak louder than words," she interpreted.

  "And mine weren't saying what you needed to hear." His fingers tightened around hers. "You didn't come running to me when you found you were pregnant."

  She withdrew her hand. "That's different."

  "Is it, Tara? Frankly, I can't see how. You say you wanted me to need you but when did you ever lean on me?"

  As her stomach began to tie itself into knots, she slid the photos into their folder along with the lease she'd purchased at the auction. "I guess neither of us felt up to making the first move." She swung around, linking her hands in front of her. "It only goes to show that we did the right thing in ending it."

  He regarded her thoughtfully. "I'm not so sure it is ended." He took a deep breath. "You still haven't told me how many bedrooms that cottage has."

  "And I don't intend to. We've been over this, Zeke. Maybe we didn't end it by design, but the universe ended it for us." It always would, she suspected. "I think it's sensible to let it stay that way."

  Zeke slammed one fist into another, the explosive sound making her jump. "I don't know what it is, but being around you makes me anything but sensible."

  "See," she said as if he had just proved a point. "We're not doing each other any favors by dragging this out."