Suddenly Daddy and Suddenly Mommy

by Loree Lough

  “When I’m on my feet again,” she said when she saw the tray, “I’m going to spoil you so rotten, you’re going to stink!”

  “My mom used to call me a little stinker. Maybe she’s clairvoyant?”

  “She’s a mother, and mothers know things.”

  “Is that right?” He settled in his recliner and waited for Ciara to tell him what she knew about their baby. Their baby. His baby. She’d said so in the middle of the night, when she thought he was asleep.

  “I know, for instance, that this baby is going to be brilliant and musically gifted and kind and…”

  “How do you know all that?” he asked, chuckling good-naturedly. “Did the Baby Fairy tell you?”

  “Make light of it if you must,” she sniffed, “but it’s all very scientific, actually.”

  “Scientific?”

  Ciara began counting on her fingers. “You’re very intelligent, and I’m not exactly a dull bulb, so the baby has to be smart.” She held up a second digit. “I play a pretty mean piano, and you play just about every other instrument God ever created.” The ring finger popped up. “And the way you’ve been taking care of me, well, if I didn’t already know you were a kind, bighearted man before I was quarantined, I know it now. Isn’t it natural to assume our baby will have a blend of our finer qualities?”

  He merely sat there a moment, nodding as he assessed what she’d said. Ciara hadn’t mentioned one trait that even closely resembled Chet Bradley. And why would she? It’s your kid….

  “You know, when you put it that way, why wouldn’t our kid be terrific?” He smiled. “But I hope he looks like you.”

  “And I hope he’ll have your character.”

  Chuckling, he nodded at the plaques and awards hanging on the fireplace wall. “Don’t you mean my reputation? I’ve won—”

  “‘Reputation is what men think you are,’” she quoted. “‘Character is what God and the angels know about you.’”

  She had fixed him with that no-nonsense, all-loving stare of hers, so he couldn’t very well argue with her, now could he? And so he said, “Well, this character is gonna go down to the end of the driveway and see which shrub our paperboy has hidden the newspaper under this morning. And then he’s gonna refill his coffee cup, and put up his feet, and make like a man of leisure till he’s read every last page.”

  Ciara patted the mattress. “I’d like to ask you a question first….”

  She’d been behaving strangely all morning. Till now, he’d chalked it up to her condition, to cabin fever, to being forced to stay off her feet. Mitch perched on the edge of the sofa bed. “Ask away, li’l lady,” he drawled.

  “When are you going to tell me where you were, when we’re both old and gray?”

  He frowned. “Where I was?”

  “You know perfectly well what I’m talking about.”

  She wasn’t teasing. He could tell by the lift of her left brow, by the slight narrowing of her wide eyes. Their hands, flat on the sunflowery sheets, were nearly touching. He inchworm-walked his forward until his forefinger rested atop hers. “The case, you mean….”

  “Where were you? Why didn’t you write, or call?”

  “I tried, remember?”

  She rolled her eyes. “So you’ve said. Didn’t you wonder why, if you wrote so many letters, I never answered them? Didn’t you think it was strange, that after one little fight, I’d completely write you off?”

  “Didn’t seem so little to me.”

  Ciara sighed. “It was the first time we’d ever disagreed about anything.” She crooked her finger around his. “You didn’t expect us to spend our whole marriage in a state of harmony, did you?”

  Mitch shrugged. “My folks never fought.”

  “Maybe you never heard them fight, but they disagreed, I’m sure. Every married couple does. It’s normal. It’s natural. It’s…unavoidable.”

  He met her eyes. “I guess…I guess I just hadn’t gotten used to the idea.”

  “We did sort of rush things, didn’t we?”

  Their eyes locked on a thread of understanding. “Do you still think it was a mistake?”

  The pain in her voice was matched only by the agony shining in her eyes. Mitch pulled her to him. “Sweetie, I’ve never thought it was a mistake. From the moment I first saw you, I knew….”

  She pressed a palm to each of his cheeks, her eyes searching his with fierce intensity. “Then why did you let them send you away? Why would you go undercover, and leave me here to wonder where you were…how you were?”

  “Because I’m a proud, thickheaded, know-it-all.”

  Her brow crinkled with confusion. “A know-it-all?”

  “I’d been hearing about Pericolo for ages. I knew it was going to take some fancy footwork to get him. The agency wasn’t about to send some rookie in there to nab a guy like that. I guess I felt sort of proud they’d picked me.”

  “I see,” she said softly, nodding.

  “Well,” he shrugged, “that, and Bradley made it pretty clear that if I didn’t go in, I was on my way out at the Bureau.”

  “You could have found another job…what made you so sure I’d still be here when you came home…if you came home?”

  “I wasn’t.” He exhaled a heavy breath. “Till recently, that is.”

  She leaned against the pillows and hid behind her hands. “I must need a nap already, because I’m not following you.”

  “I thought….” Mitch licked his lips. He wished she hadn’t pulled away, because nothing felt so reassuring, so comforting as having her in his arms. He looked at his empty hands, filled them with hers. “I thought maybe you found a way to replace me.”

  A tiny, nervous giggle popped from between the tightly-clenched fingers that hid her face. A second passed in utter silence. She folded her hands in her lap. “Replace you? How?”

  “Bradley.” The word ground out of him like a monosyllabic growl.

  “Bradley?”

  And then the light of understanding gleamed in her eyes. Ciara gasped, touched her fingertips to her lips, shook her head. “Mitch…you don’t mean….” Her brows lifted and her eyes filled with tears. “You thought….” She bit her lower lip. “You thought I had….”

  “Just look at you, trembling and tense. Forget I ever said anything. I’m a total idiot.” He tried to gather her in his arms.

  “Stop it,” she said, one hand up like a traffic cop. “Just give me a minute to wrap my mind around this thing.” Ciara took a deep breath. After a moment, she rested crossed arms on her ample belly. “What had I ever done to make you think such a thing?”

  “Nothing. And I didn’t think it. Not once in the whole time I was gone.” He held up both hands in a gesture of defensiveness. “I knew I’d have a price to pay for leaving the way I did, for staying gone so long, but I figured we could work it out. I figured eventually, we’d….”

  She lifted her chin. “What changed your mind?”

  He took a deep breath. “Aftershave.”

  Ciara rubbed her eyes. “You’re not making any sense….”

  “Bradley’s brand. In the medicine cabinet in the master bathroom.

  She inclined her head. “Bradley’s brand,” she repeated, more to herself than to Mitch. And then she began nodding, tapping a finger against her chin. “So that’s why he insisted on going upstairs that day….”

  Mitch rested a hand on her thigh, and listened.

  “He came over one day to see if I needed anything…and to tell me you hadn’t been in touch, as usual…and acted as if he’d heard a noise upstairs. Drew his weapon and everything!” Lips narrowing with suspicion, she added, “Now I understand why he spent more time in our room than….”

  “When?” Mitch demanded. “How long ago?”

  “Right before you came home.” A note of alarm sounded in her voice, and panic brightened her eyes. “Why?”

  “Because it had been part of his plan all along. We were both pawns in his little game of ‘kill two bird
s with one stone.’”

  “What?”

  “He used me to get rid of Pericolo, so Chambro could take over and Bradley’s pay-offs would continue. He never figured I’d survive being underground with a maniac like that, and when I did….” He emitted a low groan of frustration. “And he used you to drive me over the edge.”

  “By planting the aftershave.”

  Mitch nodded.

  “What I don’t understand is why you believed I could have done such a thing.”

  He met her eyes, still damp from her bout with tears. “You’re a beautiful woman, Ciara. Beautiful and warm and loving….” He shrugged helplessly. “You saw my mom’s prized roses. She spent hours tending them every week.”

  “They’re spectacular, but what do they have to do with….”

  “She says the lovelier a creature of nature, the more time and attention it needs.”

  “I don’t know whether to be flattered at being compared to a rose, or insulted that you think I’m so high maintenance.”

  “Not high maintenance, Sweetie, just deserving of some tender loving care.”

  “I suppose I can’t fault you for doing the very same thing I did, can I?”

  “Me? When would I….”

  “I didn’t know where you were, what you were doing. For all I knew, you’d been sent undercover to guard a beautiful singer, like in the movie that came out a couple years ago, where the bodyguard fell in love with his charge….”

  “I never so much as looked at another woman,” he said, hand forming the Boy Scout salute. “I swear.”

  “And I never looked at another man,” she responded, mimicking the gesture. “So tell me, what changed your mind?”

  “How do I know that baby’s mine, you mean?”

  She gasped again, and hugged her tummy. “You thought our baby…? You thought…Bradley?” Ciara shuddered. “Now I am insulted. How could you think so little of me, Mitch? Was it because I fell for you so quickly? Was it because I let you talk me into getting married after only a three-month courtship? Was it because…?”

  “I already told you why,” he said, grasping her hands. “I’m an idiot.”

  When she blinked, a silvery tear broke free of her long lashes, landed on the back of her hand. Mitch kissed it away. Kissed away the tears remaining on her cheeks, in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Ciara. About everything. If I could go back in time and do it all over, I’d….”

  “Would you still take the assignment?”

  “Not if I knew then what I know now.”

  “What do you know now?”

  He cupped her cheeks in his palms. “That—cliché as it sounds—I love you more than life itself, and nothing, no one, is more important than you.” He wrapped her in his arms. “I can’t live without you, Ciara. I’m so sorry for everything I put you through. It’s all my fault you’re in the shape you’re in.”

  “Is that what you think?” she asked, pulling away.

  “How else do you explain it?”

  “Didn’t Dr. Peterson tell you there’s no known cause for this condition?”

  “Well, yeah, but….”

  “And didn’t he tell you there’s no predicting who it’ll affect and who it won’t?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “But nothing. It just happened, and you know what?”

  “What?”

  “I think it was a blessing.”

  “A blessing! To be practically flat on your back for over a month, worrying every minute whether….”

  “It brought you closer to me than anything could have. And Mitch,” she said, voice softened and warmed by tears, “it taught me so much about you.”

  “About me?”

  “That’s right, Daddy.” She smiled. “It taught me that, despite the fact that you wear a big gun to work, and despite the fact that you talk tough, you’re as gentle as Mary’s little lamb. I couldn’t have chosen a better husband and father if I’d ordered him from a catalog. I love you, you big idiot!” she teased, and kissed him soundly.

  “I love you, Ciara.”

  “Now why don’t you get the morning paper, and I’ll ‘scissors-paper-rock’ you for the sports section.”

  Grinning, he headed for the door. He was on the porch when he said, “Do we have a new paper boy?”

  “Not that I know of. Why?”

  “Because the regular kid likes to chuck it into a shrub or halfway up the crabapple tree, and today it’s lying smack in the middle of the driveway.”

  “Stop complaining,” Ciara called from the living room, “get that newspaper so we can see how the Orioles did in last night’s game….”

  “Good morning, Mitch,” sang Mrs. Thompson. “And how are you on this beautiful morning?”

  “Couldn’t be better,” he said, stooping to pet her toy poodle. “How’re ya doin’, fella?” Mitch ruffled the dog’s curly ears. “Tell me, how is it that you’re always so cheerful?”

  The old woman smiled brightly. “I’m seventy-two years old, lived through five wars, the birth of three kids, eight grandchildren and two great-grandchildren. I buried two husbands and a business enterprise or two. After surviving all that, the world seems like a happy, peaceful place. Why wouldn’t I be cheerful?”

  “I like your outlook,” Mitch admitted. “And I like your pup, here, too.” Standing, he added, “I’ll bet he could last a year on one bag of Chester’s dog food.”

  “You’d be surprised how many Kibbles my little Bruno packs away.” She clapped her hands, and the poodle leaped into her arms. “Isn’t that right, sweetums? You eat Mummy right out of house and home, don’t you?” Mrs. Thompson unclipped Bruno’s rhinestone leash and draped it around her neck, then put the dog back onto the ground. “He hates to be tethered,” she explained, heading for the porch. “How’s that pretty little wife of yours today?” she asked, one foot on the bottom step. “I must say, she looked lovely yesterday. And you take such good care of her!” She patted her stomach. “By the way, the cookout was splendid. That potato salad of yours was scrumptious. Maybe you’ll share your recipe….”

  “There’s a huge bowl of the stuff in the fridge. You’d be doing me a favor if you took some of it off my hands.”

  She grinned. “Oh, that would be lovely!”

  He started for the house. “I have a memory like a colander. If I don’t do it now—”

  “Bruno, you leave Mr. Mahoney’s paper alone now, you hear, before I—”

  Mitch had no time to react. He looked back in time to see bits of smoking, flaming debris raining down from the sky.

  In a heartbeat, he was beside the old woman. “Mrs. Thompson, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, as he helped her sit on the top step of her porch, “but where’s Bruno?”

  He’d been on his way back inside when the explosion had cracked the peaceful July morning—hadn’t seen what happened. But the last thing he’d heard was Mrs. Thompson, scolding the dog. If that was the case—

  Act fast, he told himself. Ciara is inside alone….

  “You sure you’re okay?” he said.

  Nodding, Mrs. Thompson clung to the wrought iron railing.

  Mitch breathed a sigh of relief as he spied the dog, shivering under an azalea bush. “Found him,” he called, pointing.

  “Bruno,” Mrs. Thompson cried, clapping her hands. “Bruno, you come here this instant!”

  The dog was on her heels in an instant.

  The old woman gripped the wrought-iron rail so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Mitch helped her to her feet and guided her through her front door.

  “Just sit tight, Mrs. Thompson,” he said. “As soon as I check on Ciara, I’ll come back to see how you’re doing.”

  “Yes, that would be best. You must go to Ciara. I’m perfectly fine,” she said.

  “Now then,” she said, as he dashed out the door. “Lighten up! You don’t want to frighten Ciara with that sour expression, do you?”

  Frightening Ciar
a was the least of his worries right now. Saving her—from whomever was trying to even a score—that’s what he was worried about….

  Chapter Twelve

  No one had made an outgoing call since the telephone woke them earlier that morning. Mitch dialed “star sixty-nine” and waited for the operator to identify the caller. “The last number to call your line was 410, 555-1272,” said the smoothed-voiced recording. He scribbled the digits on a sheet of scrap paper and handed it to Bob Knight, the lead investigator from the Howard County Police Department.

  Knight was tall and wiry, with coal black eyes and a shock of thick, nappy hair. “Maybe you oughta tell me about this case you were workin’ on, Agent Mahoney.”

  Mitch snuck a peek at Ciara, who had been listening intently. “I’m cool as a cucumber,” she said, crossing both arms over her chest. “And I agree with Officer Knight. It’s high time we heard about this case you were working on….”

  Mitch studied her calm face, her relaxed demeanor. He had to give it to her; she’d kept a tight rein on her emotions after the blast, and he knew that couldn’t have been easy. Not for a woman whose feet left the floor if someone walked into a room and surprised her….

  Ah, what a mother won’t do to protect her young, he thought wryly.

  “Really, Mitch,” she added, trying to sound more convincing, “I’m fine. In fact, I think it’ll be good for me to hear it…finally.”

  “The night I left here,” he began, sitting beside her on the sofa bed, “I went straight to headquarters.”

  Knight made himself comfortable in Mitch’s chair. “Go on….”

  “Bradley was at my desk when I got there. He had Giovanni Pericolo’s file and my undercover identity with him.” Shrugging, he cut to the chase. “He told me the Bureau locked Pericolo up, but they couldn’t stop Pericolo from doing business.”

  “It’s sad but true,” the cop agreed. “Guys run drug rings from prison every day.”