SH Medical 07 - The Detective's Accidental Baby

by Diamond, Jacqueline

  They hadn’t insisted on treatment or acknowledged that their son’s life was careening off course, even when he dropped out of graduate school and gave up his dream of becoming a research biologist. He’ll outgrow this phase. Once he gets a job, a girlfriend, a goal in life, he’ll be fine. How many times had Erica heard those excuses?

  “You said he hit a bus?” Lock prompted.

  “No. He missed it.” She had suggested pulling over, but her brother kept driving. “Jordan started weaving in and out of traffic, and I could smell marijuana. When he ran a red light, I thought we’d get stopped, but no such luck.”

  “Go on.”

  There’d been a couple of near misses, corners taken with a screech of brakes, angry shouts and gestures from other drivers. “We were coming up on an intersection when the light turned red. He stomped on the gas pedal and laughed like it was a great joke. The next thing I knew, we were spinning around and he threw himself over me.”

  “You weren’t wearing seat belts?” Lock asked.

  “I was, but not Jordan, and the air bags didn’t inflate. I think he’d set them off before and never fixed them.”

  “And then?”

  “He whispered, ‘Live well.’ That’s the last thing he ever said.” Tears coursed down her cheeks.

  “What about the people in the other car?”

  She’d always been grateful that the crash hadn’t claimed anyone else. “We hit a panel truck. The driver had a few contusions, that’s all.”

  Lock rocked her gently. “How long were you trapped in the car with your brother on top of you?”

  “I’m not sure.” She’d either blacked out or erased that memory. “It couldn’t have been long.”

  “Did you have nightmares?”

  “Yes. I still do.” She wiped her tears on the sleeve of her jogging suit. “He wouldn’t have been there if it weren’t for my birthday.”

  Lock’s arms tightened around her. “You honestly think you’re even a little bit to blame?”

  “At one level, no.” Erica had told herself that, many times. “But my father said…”

  “Your father said what?” Lock demanded after she stopped.

  She’d overheard the angry remark at the hospital. “Dad told Mom I should have noticed Jordan wasn’t fit to drive.”

  “What did he expect you to do about it?” Lock muttered.

  “Stop him.” To Erica, her voice sounded small, like a child’s. Sometimes she felt that way when she thought about her big brother.

  “Seems like your parents were part of the problem.”

  “They didn’t encourage Jordan to use drugs,” she pointed out.

  “But they failed to hold him responsible for his actions. How dare your father even hint that you were at fault!” Lock said in an offended tone. “That’s typical of an enabler.”

  Erica wondered if he was speaking from experience. “This sounds personal.”

  He rested his forehead against her temple, as if he could merge their thoughts. “My adoptive parents were drug users. They always found someone else to blame for their problems. And you know where they learned to do that? From their own parents.”

  “Your grandparents used drugs, too?”

  “My mother’s mother abused alcohol. And she refused to hear any criticism of her precious daughter.” His chest rose and fell heavily. “She had the nerve to say that the responsibility of raising a child put too much stress on her poor little girl. That was when I was eight, right before the police hauled my mom off to jail and sent me to foster care. By then, my dad was long gone.”

  “Did your grandmother try to take you in?”

  “As far as I know, she never offered.” Lock blew out a long breath. “It infuriates me that you’ve carried a burden of guilt about your brother.”

  “What about you?” Erica said. “You must be carrying a burden, too. Why else would you still be so angry?”

  He drew his head back a few inches. “That’s a conversation for another time. This is your turn to get sympathy.”

  Lock couldn’t fool her. He was avoiding the subject because of the pain. “That bad, huh?” She kissed his cheek.

  “Worse.” He tried to toss off the word with a smile, but his voice caught.

  “I understand that darkness. It becomes a part of you.” Erica had never shared this before with anyone. “Some people think that if you focus on positive thoughts, you can banish the pain. You might bury it for a while, but it hangs on.”

  “I got some therapy four years later, after I found the right foster family,” Lock said raggedly. “It helped, to a point.”

  She ran her hand over the emerging bristle on his jaw. “I’m tired of dwelling on the past. I want to feel alive, right now.”

  He raised her palm to his lips. “Well, if it helps, I’m definitely starting to feel alive.”

  Erica was, too, in places that hadn’t stirred since her husband’s betrayal. Now her hunger grew as, beneath her, Lock’s body stiffened against her sensitive core. His mouth covered hers, parting her lips with heated urgency.

  Her breast pressed against his chest, the excitement buoying Erica. Eagerly, she unfastened his shirt and stroked his muscular chest. Deft hands lifted her jersey and sports bra over her head.

  “Smooth move,” she was saying when his lips found a nipple, drawing a startled gasp and sending desire arrowing through her. Her back arched in invitation.

  Lock shifted her off his lap and onto her side, then stretched out beside her. “You like smooth moves, do you?”

  “I love them,” Erica said breathlessly, and reached to unbuckle his belt.

  “You’ve got a few yourself.” Eyes half-closed, he lifted his body and poised above her while she freed him from his fastenings. His arousal was glorious to look at. Erica’s center turned liquid, and when he stripped away her pants and undergarments, she was ready for him, feeling as if the sun had come out, thawing the fertile earth after a cold winter.

  “Whoa. Not planning to be a mommy, remember?” He sat back, found his wallet and extracted a condom.

  Erica couldn’t believe she’d overlooked protection. She’d almost forgotten what it was like to sleep with a man who wasn’t her husband. During her marriage she’d been on the pill, and hadn’t been with anyone since then.

  She helped stretch the condom over his shaft. “You’re one beautiful guy.”

  “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Lock teased.

  “Prove it,” Erica returned.

  “With pleasure.”

  She fell back, unable to think of anything but Lock as he caressed and parted her thighs. When his hardness slid inside, strength flowed from him into her. They merged into a river, sweeping away branches and rocks, old obstacles, old fears. Erica had always held a part of herself in reserve with men, even her husband, but not now. Not with Lock.

  His rhythm intensified, sending waves of pleasure through her. She had never imagined she was capable of such abandon. Above her, he pumped faster, wildly, until with a cry he exploded inside her. His final thrusts fused them in a moment of pure ecstasy.

  Warmth enveloped Erica as he eased down onto the couch and they nestled side by side. If not for a grumbling reminder from her stomach that she needed to eat, she’d have preferred never to move again.

  Reluctantly, she nudged him. “Time to get up.”

  “Do we have to?” Lock asked playfully.

  “I’m hungry.”

  “Already?”

  “Not that way. Dibs on the bathroom.” Erica wriggled free of their entanglement.

  “Is this the thanks I get?” Lock batted lazy blue eyes at her.

  “I won’t be long.” Off she went, contentment enveloping her.<
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  Tomorrow, there would be loose ends and ramifications to tidy up. With relationships, there always were. Tonight, she had no intention of thinking about any of that.

  HE OUGHT TO FEEL GUILTY, or at least worried, Lock mused as he lay bathed in the afterglow. He’d kept an important secret from Erica, and he’d probably violated private-detective ethics, although he’d already turned in his report. Now, if this had happened at their first meeting…well, that would have presented a conflict.

  No sense dwelling on what hadn’t occurred. He was much too happy about what had.

  The connection he’d sensed hadn’t been an illusion, after all. He’d felt it even more strongly while they made love. Something about her resonated with him, as if they’d been singing the same song all their lives and just discovered how well they blended.

  He wanted more of that. How much more remained to be discovered. While Lock was basically a loner, Erica didn’t give off any desperate-to-tie-him-down vibes. They suited each other. He could picture more lovemaking and fun times ahead without the pressure of her wanting a commitment or a family. What more could a guy ask?

  The click of the bathroom door opening reminded him that he ought to be stirring. He reached to remove the condom.

  Something was wrong. He stared down in dismay.

  It had torn. Damn.

  Most likely it meant nothing. What were the odds? Lock had taken a few chances in his romantic past, and to his knowledge none had resulted in children. But as he grabbed his clothes and ducked past Erica, he had to admit his rosy scenario of a few minutes ago might be facing a snag.

  A big one.

  Chapter Five

  Erica hummed as she reheated their dinners in the microwave. Her body seemed to murmur along with the melody, which she recognized as one of Dr. T’s favorites—“Oh, What a Beautiful Morning” from the musical Oklahoma!

  How saccharine could she get? Still, she felt an unaccustomed lilt to her movements as she set the warm plates on the table.

  Her earlier shakiness was long gone. While she had no illusions about recovering from Jordan’s death on the basis of one conversation or one episode of transcendent sex, for now the pain had receded. It had been replaced by something new, something too sensitive and fresh to analyze.

  Let matters unfold at their own pace. She just hoped Lock wasn’t the love-’em-and-leave-’em type, but if he was, she could handle that.

  Despite her attempt at detachment, Erica’s spirits lifted when he sauntered into view, shirt rumpled in defiance of his attempt to tuck it into his pants, and corded forearms visible below rolled-up sleeves.

  “Dinner’s ready,” she said cheerfully. “Again.”

  “Thanks for heating it up.” He held her chair for her. “Although I doubt the pasta will be quite as tasty.”

  “Parmesan hides a multitude of sins.” She’d cleaned up the mess she’d made and poured fresh glasses of wine. Lucky that she preferred white, since red would have left a stain on the rug.

  They ate in what seemed to her a comfortable silence. Absorbed in her food, Erica didn’t register the tension in Lock until his stiff fingers knocked over the saltshaker.

  She reached to right it. When their hands brushed, he jerked away.

  Disappointment dimmed her mood. Ignoring the salt, she regarded him steadily. “If you’re concerned that I’m the clingy type, don’t be.”

  “What?” He rotated his empty wineglass absently.

  “If you break that, you pay for it.” She hoped the joke would lighten the mood, but he merely set the glass down. “If you’re going to bolt for the door, don’t forget your shoes and jacket. I’d hate to have to send them by way of Patty.”

  Was that guilt in his expression? Erica couldn’t figure out this guy. For heaven’s sake, she’d practically given him permission to dump her. What could be bothering him?

  He patted his mouth with his napkin and took a deep breath. “The condom broke.”

  “What?”

  Lock didn’t repeat the statement. Obviously, she’d heard it. She was just having trouble grasping the implications.

  “Exactly how long had that thing been in your wallet?” Erica asked. “Don’t tell me you bought it out of a vending machine at a rest stop.”

  “I don’t remember, and no,” he answered in a level tone. “Let’s move past affixing blame, okay?”

  She hadn’t meant to do that. “Sorry.”

  “The odds are fairly low that you’ll…you know.”

  “I’m a nurse in a fertility program. You can say the word pregnant around me.” Hearing her sarcastic tone, Erica waved a hand apologetically. “Sorry again. My responses tend to be defensive.”

  “I understand.”

  The condom broke. She wished he could take back those words. Oh, for pity’s sake, that wasn’t the issue. Why had she been such an idiot? Why had she imagined that a few minutes of lust were worth the risk?

  “You’re right,” she said into the silence. “The odds are low. I work with women who try for years to get pregnant. Even under normal circumstances, it takes a few months.”

  “Nature has a quirky sense of humor.” Lock stacked her empty plate atop his. “Whatever happens, you can count on me. We’ll get through this together.”

  Why was he acting as if they were a couple? “I barely know you.” Erica ignored the little voice reminding her that she should have thought of that sooner.

  “It looks like we’re going to know each other a lot better,” he said.

  Suddenly she longed to be alone. Solitude meant being free of other people’s emotions, alone to be churlish and angry without having to act polite.

  “I’m a big girl. I can take the consequences of my actions.” Getting to her feet, Erica grabbed the plates and silverware and made her getaway to the kitchen. “If you don’t mind, I’m tired and I have to be up early tomorrow.”

  “You work on Saturdays?” Lock asked.

  “I put in an extra half day if Dr. Tartikoff schedules surgery. And he usually does.” At the sink, she set the plates to soak.

  “Erica, are you kicking me out?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “But if I stick around for dessert, you might throw it at my head?” Lock said.

  She turned to face him. “Okay, yes. You should leave.”

  “Why?” he asked. “We’re equally involved in this situation.”

  How typical of a guy to think that way. “I’m the one who’ll swell up like a balloon and go through nine months of discomfort and hours of agony if I’m pregnant.” She didn’t mean to rail at him, but being put in this situation infuriated her. “Lock, I appreciate that you mean well, but this is my problem. If there’s a problem.”

  “I want to help.”

  “I don’t need help.” Why hadn’t he been more careful about the condom? It was too late for him to change anything now. “This is probably all unnecessary. So don’t worry about it.”

  His jaw worked. At last he gave a reluctant nod. “Promise to call me when you know what’s what.” He handed her a business card bearing his name and phone number under the logo of Fact Hunter Investigations.

  “All right.” She put the card in a drawer under the counter, between a deck of playing cards and a tray of pens and pencils.

  They regarded each other across the counter. To Erica, it felt like the Great Wall of China. “Want a ride to your car now?” he asked. “Or I could stop by in the morning.”

  She’d forgotten about that. “I’ll get up early and walk.”

  “That’s a long way.”

  “It’s only a mile and a half.”

  His shrug conceded defeat. “You have my number. And, Erica?”

  She wa
tched warily as he put on his jacket and shoes. “Yes?”

  “Happy birthday.” With a rueful smile, out he went.

  Erica flipped the bolt behind him. What was that old saying about closing the barn door after the horse had escaped? Or, rather, after you let him inside in the first place.

  Turning, she pressed her back to the door and sought comfort in the familiarity of the room. There was the couch she’d lovingly recovered and refinished after she found it, frayed and scuffed, at an end-of-the-college-year sale in Cambridge. A couple of stained-glass lamps from a pawn shop, the round table from an estate sale in Brookline, the antique frame for which she’d had a mirror cut to size. This was her home, sheltering and filled with the personal power she’d sworn never to yield to anyone.

  A sense of calm settled over Erica. As she’d told Lock, she could deal just fine with whatever developed.

  THWACK! THE WHITE BALL shot across the pool table and sent colored balls skimming over the green felt. As Lock moved into position for his next shot, he tried in vain to tune out Mike’s voice, talking on the phone in the depths of their rented house.

  “Thanks, Mom,” his brother was saying. “Okay, now tell me about Grandma’s diabetes. Was that type 1 or type 2?”

  Why on earth did the guy care? Lock wondered grumpily, and took an angle shot. Two balls kissed, knocking one a few inches out of the way and pocketing the other. He made his way around the table, gauging his best bet for scoring.

  He wasn’t sure why it seemed so important to tune up his game. Sure, he and his brother had a friendly rivalry with some of Mike’s old police buddies, who occasionally dropped by to enjoy the pool table that had come with the rest of the furnishings. Mostly, though, Lock needed to blow off energy, and on a rainy March evening, after a long day at work, he didn’t feel like going for a run.

  These past five weeks, he’d done plenty of jogging, everywhere but City Hall Park. Giving Erica her space seemed the honorable thing to do. Finally, he’d left a message on her cell phone, figuring she ought to know by now whether she was pregnant. She hadn’t responded to that message or a second one, either.