“Sometimes, I hope. When she’s not traveling.”
In the crook of Erica’s arm, Julie stopped sucking the bottle to doze. “We’d better put them to bed.”
“I suppose so.” His gaze troubled, Lock arose and carried baby Richard to the nursery.
After positioning Julie on her back in the crib, Erica ran a hand over the baby’s sweet little body. Jordan could be a girl’s name, too, she thought.
Earlier, the babies’ crying had made her breasts ache, as if they were already heavy with milk. And Julie’s trusting innocence went straight to her heart.
Erica tore herself away, angry at her maternal instincts. They defied everything she knew about herself and about what was best for the child she carried. They tempted her with the idea that she might be able to stay involved, without taking on full-time motherhood, when she knew that was wildly impractical. She’d get sucked in deeper and deeper, and then be torn by guilt and resentment.
The baby deserved better. And so did she.
AS HE SLIPPED out of the nursery, Lock’s brain sorted through possible emergency babysitters. His foster mother probably would help when she could, but she planned to travel a lot. And he couldn’t ask Patty. Not only did she work for him, but her stepdaughter was five, which meant there wouldn’t be any baby equipment in her condo.
Someone ought to establish an after-hours nursery that parents could utilize. But, Lock realized, he might not trust it, in any case. A child wasn’t a pet you could leave at a kennel.
He sank onto the couch, daunted by what it would mean to have a baby wholly dependent on him. His commitment to running a business with Mike meant he couldn’t cut back on his hours. Even if he were still working for a law enforcement agency, he’d face rotating shifts and overtime.
Lock gazed at Erica’s slightly rounded abdomen. Inside, his child was developing, becoming more complete every day. He couldn’t bear to let the little guy—or little girl—down. Whatever sacrifices it took, Lock would make them.
“You never gave me an answer,” Erica said from her chair. “I don’t suppose there’s any urgency about meeting Renée. Still, it bothers me that I’m keeping secrets from her. I mean, I’m carrying her grandchild.”
The words resonated inside Lock. Her grandchild. “She must not have other children. She said I didn’t have brothers or sisters,” he murmured, recalling her message.
“That’s right.”
“You like this woman? She strikes you as…” He searched for the right word. “Dependable?”
“That’s an odd way to put it, but yes.” Erica folded her hands on her lap. “I think you’ll like her.”
Whatever sacrifices it took… “All right,” Lock said. “I’ll meet her.”
“You’re sure?” Erica asked.
No, but he’d do it anyway. “Set it up,” he told her. “And thanks.”
The woman had failed him as a parent, but she’d been only seventeen. Maybe she’d do better as a grandparent.
At the moment, it was the only option he could see.
Chapter Sixteen
That week, Erica felt like a diplomat trying to arrange a peace conference between rival nations. Who would have believed it took so much tact and persistence to bring together a mother and son?
She didn’t hear from her own mom, nor did she try to contact her. While Erica disliked letting their disagreement fester, she feared they’d only argue again if they talked. Because she wasn’t going to give in, and neither, apparently, was Bibi.
As for Renée, she took the news about Lock with great reticence. “He’s your lover?” she asked dubiously when Erica explained the situation at lunch Monday.
“And the baby’s father.” Erica kept her voice low, aware that the crowded cafeteria was full of sharp ears. “I’d like to introduce you.”
“I don’t know what he expects from me. I can’t undo the past.”
“I think he wants to learn why you gave him up and what his background is. Don’t most adoptees want that?” Lock hadn’t explained why he’d contacted his birth mother, but it seemed a reasonable assumption.
“I’ll consider it,” Renée said.
When Erica relayed the conversation to Lock, his birth mother’s indecisiveness seemed to annoy him. “What did she say about the fact that you’re carrying her grandchild?” he asked as they jogged together on Wednesday afternoon. One advantage of his schedule was that, although he had to work odd hours, he was occasionally free to take breaks during the day.
“Not much.” Erica had expected more of a reaction from her usually talkative friend. “She finds the whole situation kind of overwhelming.”
“She should think about how it makes me feel,” Lock grumbled. “I’m the kid here.”
“You’re a full-grown man with a temper,” she retorted.
“That, too.”
Did real diplomats have to negotiate with so little information? Erica wondered. Did they have to answer questions with guesswork, and tiptoe around everyone’s sensibilities? If so, it was a miracle peace conferences ever produced results.
At work, Dr. T thanked her again for babysitting, but tactfully avoided mentioning the pregnancy or Lock. Ned regarded Erica with open curiosity when they ran into each other, but also refrained from asking what had happened with the detective. She didn’t dare say another word on the matter, for fear she’d let something slip about the connection to Renée.
Fortunately, the fertility contest kept everyone preoccupied. Zack Sargent had proposed establishing a formal scholarship-style program to aid cash-strapped fertility patients. Although he claimed this was separate from the contest, he clearly hoped to add that hundred-thousand-dollar prize to the kitty. In the operating room, Erica noticed, he had to endure digs from Rod Vintner, who implied that Zack was just trying to assure funding for his beloved egg donor program.
By late Friday afternoon, Erica still hadn’t been able to nail down a meeting for her two friends.
“It’s best that we wait a while, anyway,” Lock told her when he called to cancel dinner that evening. “The eleven-year-old girl you saw in the supermarket has run away from home. The police are searching, but I need to be out there, too. I keep feeling I ought to have spotted the danger signs.”
“She looked angry when her uncle confronted her,” Erica agreed. “But you couldn’t have known.”
“Maybe if her uncle and grandmother were on the same page with supervision…” He didn’t finish. “Anyway, I’m going to spend the weekend trying to figure out where Kelli is. None of her friends admits having seen her, and she’s turned off her phone.”
“What about that guy she was with?”
“Randy claims he thought she was sixteen, and swears he’s had nothing to do with her since. I’m not ruling him out, but he seems genuinely concerned. I’d appreciate your letting me know when and if my less-than-loving mother decides to spare me a few minutes of her precious time, but there’s no hurry.”
“Will do.” Things were not looking good on the diplomacy front, Erica mused as she clicked off.
An hour later, Renée called. “I decided I’ll feel better if I get this over with. How about tomorrow afternoon?”
Afraid to let the opportunity escape, Erica promised to check with Lock. And Lock, when she reached him, grumbled and growled, but finally said yes. He used almost the same words: “Might as well get this over with.”
While that wasn’t a great attitude on either side, Erica didn’t complain. Instead, she set the time for three o’clock at her apartment.
What did diplomats serve for refreshments when they brought enemy factions to the peace table? Something sweet, most likely. She resolved to pick up fresh-baked cookies on her way home from the hospital Saturday.
; She had a craving for them, anyway.
THE RAIN STARTED late Friday night. Lock awoke several times and by 5:00 a.m. gave up trying to sleep. In the kitchen, he found his brother grumpily setting out a bucket to catch a drip in the ceiling.
“I told Leo we need a new roof,” he muttered. “He’s too cheap to do more than get it patched. Well, I’m calling him now, no matter how early it is.”
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.” Lock had met their landlord only a couple of times. Since Mike and Leo Franco used to work together at the police department, he let his brother handle all contact. “I’m surprised it didn’t bother him when he lived here.”
“As I recall, we were having a drought. Now he’s cozy and dry in that fancy condo.” Leo had moved in with his new wife, Nora, a doctor at the med center. They lived in the same complex as Patty and her husband, with a great view of the ocean.
“Must be nice.” Lock took out the coffee and measured half a cup into a filter.
“Find that missing girl?” Blearily, his brother set out a box of cereal.
“Not yet. I hope she’s holed up somewhere safe.”
After breakfast, he called his client, but Phil hadn’t heard from Kelli. “I keep picturing her cold and wet and huddled under a bridge.”
That beat some of the scarier scenarios that came to mind. “I’m going to broaden my search today,” Lock promised.
“Mom hasn’t stopped crying and blaming herself.” With a wry note, Phil added, “That is, when she’s not blaming me. But that’s only because she’s scared.”
It must be nice to be so close to your mother and so certain of her love that you could dismiss her complaints and accusations. Lock doubted he’d ever feel that confident with Renée. Still, he planned to do his best to put aside his resentment and give her a fair hearing. For the baby’s sake, and as a courtesy to Erica.
He pulled on a hooded jacket, grabbed an umbrella and went out into the rain.
SURGERY KEPT ERICA occupied that morning, but by midafternoon doubts crept in. Why had she put herself in the middle of this situation with Lock and Renée? Either they would form a bond that included the baby and therefore excluded her, or they’d hate each other. Whatever the result, Erica thought as she waited in line at the Cake Castle bakery, she was likely to lose two people she cared about.
A little boy, fidgeting as his mother paid for their order, snatched a sample chocolate chip cookie and smeared chocolate and crumbs on his face while stuffing it in his mouth. Plucking a paper napkin from a holder, his mom deftly wiped away the worst of the damage. Despite her disapproving cluck, her mouth curved affectionately.
Erica sighed. Why wasn’t she able to embrace the idea of motherhood like most women? This morning, Dr. T had operated on three patients who’d undergone years of treatment in order to bear children. What’s wrong with me?
As the pair departed, the young male clerk regarded her pleasantly. “May I help you?”
“I’d like a dozen cookies.” She pointed out her selection in the glass case. Chocolate chip and macadamia nut, white chocolate and oatmeal-raisin. They smelled heavenly.
He packaged them in a castle-shaped carton, rang up her order and thanked her for the payment.
Outside, it was pouring again. As she raised her umbrella, Erica thought of the young girl from the supermarket. Had she turned up yet? The idea of Lock searching for her was comforting, but even he couldn’t work miracles.
Balancing the cookies, Erica hurried to her car.
RAIN SWEPT ACROSS the ocean, gray upon white-capped gray, as Lock drove along the Pacific Coast Highway. He’d widened his search to include Huntington Beach and Newport, showing Kelli’s picture at teen hangouts and sandwich shops. No luck. He’d poked under bridges and into vacant buildings where homeless people took shelter, with the same negative results.
Lock kept flashing back to the summer he’d been twelve. Angry when the strict parents at his third foster home blamed him for a theft their own son had committed, he’d run away. He’d spent a pleasant day blending into the crowds at the beach, but after dark, he’d had to improvise. Having spent his meager funds on lunch, he’d sneaked into beach parties, scoring bits of barbecue, then slept in a car he found unlocked.
By the second day, hunger and the need to keep an eye open for the police began to wear him down. By day three, after fighting off a homeless man who tried to grab him, he’d become seriously scared.
Miserable but still angry, he’d faced the prospect of a third night with growing worry. Fantasies of being rescued by a millionaire or miraculously discovered by a Hollywood talent scout had died. Sitting on a seawall, Lock faced the fact that nobody cared what happened to him, so he had to care about himself.
Spotting a police car, he’d waved it down. Although he’d expected to be locked up or returned to the family he loathed, he’d instead had the good fortune to be entrusted to the Aarons. Although it took years before he truly opened up to them, they’d turned his life around.
He’d been lucky. But that didn’t help Kelli.
And what about his own child? Lock just knew he would make a terrific father. But what about days like this? He could hardly drag a child along on a search. No doubt his son or daughter would adapt to being left with last-minute babysitters, but kids needed to be the center of someone’s attention. To know they came first.
Sure, little kids were forgiving. Not so much adolescents. He didn’t want to have his own child rebel.
Was it fair to hope Renée might turn into a devoted grandmother? And is it reasonable to expect her to fill in gaps I ought to be filling myself?
His phone chimed. He glanced at the device and saw Phil was calling.
Lock pulled off the highway. Although he had a hands-free device, he didn’t like to talk while driving in the rain. “I’ve had no luck so far,” he said. “Anything on your end?”
A rasping intake of breath warned that the news wasn’t good. “The police found an unconscious girl in Santa Ana with no ID. She’s been transported to the University of California Irvine Medical Center.”
“Any reason to think it’s Kelli?”
“From the description—” He broke off.
The hospital was about a half hour’s drive away. “I’ll meet you there,” Lock said at once.
“No, thanks. This is a family matter now,” Phil replied grimly.
Despite being tempted to argue, Lock accepted that he wasn’t part of the family. “What’s her condition?”
“No word yet,” his client said. “I’ll let you know.”
“Call if there’s anything I can do.”
“I will.”
As he hung up, Lock saw that the clock on the dash read 3:10. He was going to be late to Erica’s. Well, Renée had a warm place to wait and good company, while he’d been tromping around in the cold and damp looking for Kelli.
In no mood to call, he eased the car back onto the road.
AT A QUARTER past three, Renée finished her second cookie and pushed back her chair. “There’s no point in waiting. He obviously isn’t interested in meeting me.”
Erica, who’d explained that Lock was searching for a missing child, didn’t understand her friend’s uncharacteristically snappish mood. “I’m sure he’s on his way. Let me call him.”
“If this mattered to him, he’d call you.” Renée carried her empty teacup into the kitchen. She hadn’t commented on the fact that it came from the butterfly set.
An image of herself blocking the doorway and wrestling Renée to the floor flitted through Erica’s brain. Of course, she wouldn’t go that far, she thought as she searched for a distraction.
To her relief, she heard heavy footsteps coming up the exterior staircase. Just in the nick of time.
“He�
�s here,” she said, and went to open the door.
AFTER THE CHILLY outdoors, Lock welcomed the warmth that met him when the door opened. The tantalizing scent of cookies reminded him that he’d missed lunch.
“Sorry I’m late. Traffic’s terrible.” He didn’t want to discuss the latest frightening development in Kelli’s case.
“Come in.” Erica stepped back, her smile welcoming.
Lock glimpsed a woman across the room, behind the kitchen counter. Holding herself stiffly, mouth pressed into a hard line. He refused to let her apparent disapproval bother him. He slid off his shoes, while Erica hung his umbrella on a hook over a plastic mat. Curlier than usual, her hair bounced as she moved.
“Wet out there,” he said.
“It was wet for me driving over, too,” groused the woman in the kitchen. She had a strong face with a square jaw like his, Lock noticed, and eyebrows with the same steep arch. “That didn’t make me late.”
He squelched a sharp reply. Not for her sake, but for Erica’s. “I had some urgent business to take care of.”
“Did you find the girl?” Erica asked as she guided him to the table, where she’d set out a plate of cookies and a pot of tea.
“It’s complicated.” Gratefully, Lock scooped up two cookies at once. “Thanks. These smell great.”
Renée scowled. Okay, so his manners might be lacking. In his opinion, under the circumstances, that shouldn’t matter.
Erica hovered uneasily. “Let me introduce you. Renée Green, this is Lock Vaughn. Lock, this is Renée.”
They both nodded stiffly. Lock had a feeling that no matter what he said, it would come out wrong, so he waited until the woman spoke. Finally, she did.
“I should explain that I’m not the one who chose your adoptive parents,” she said, clenching her jaw as if her teeth hurt. “I left that to the agency.”
SH Medical 07 - The Detective's Accidental Baby Page 16
