A Daughter's Perfect Secret

by Kimberly Van Meter

  “Who said there was anything wrong with fast and furious?” she said, her playful smile going slack with desire when Rafe’s mouth latched on to her nipple, drawing the tip with single-minded attention. She twisted under his ministrations, deliberately intent upon forgetting the precarious situation facing them both. All that mattered was now. Reality would intrude soon enough.

  Rafe covered Darcy’s body, every nerve ending going off in raucous starbursts of sensation, every inch of skin touching hers warm and alive. The need to possess her, feel her, consumed him like an uncontrollable fire from within that incinerated reason and good judgment. Her insistent hands roamed his body as his mouth traveled hers. She held in her hand the power to destroy everything he’d built, but he couldn’t regret telling her about Devin. He’d been compelled to share, as if knowing the burden would be easier to bear if only she was there to bear it with him, and though he knew logically that reasoning was built on a foundation of shifting sand, he had to believe he’d made the right choice.

  “Now, Rafe,” she pleaded in a low, throaty voice that slid along his mind like a stroke on his erection. He jerked, his thoughts a babbling mess of want it, need it, gotta have it, and he gratefully slid into her slick and ready folds with a groan that rattled from his toes. She clutched at him, drawing him deeper, urging him to go harder, faster, and it was all he could do not to spill right then and there.

  “Oh God, Darcy…” he gasped, shaking the bed with each piston thrust into her body, losing all sense of time and space. This was unlike anything he’d ever known. He felt wildly out of control, frenzied by the intense connection between them. It was more than random coupling, a satisfying of need. He could feel her heartbeat against his, the way her body cleaved to his with each shuddering breath. Had he ever known such blinding pleasure? The answer was easy enough as he came in a hurtling shot, his orgasm momentarily stopping his heart until it kick-started a second later with a wild thrash of life-affirming rhythm.

  He rolled to his back, slowly returning to earth, stunned. Darcy’s breath came fast and shallow, as soft moans rode the receding waves of her own orgasm. Had they—? Awareness came gradually, but when it did, Rafe turned to Darcy in alarm, realization in his stare, but words weren’t necessary. Her expression mirrored his.

  “We didn’t…” she started, her cheeks still riding high with flushed color. “Oh no…”

  Rafe’s stare drifted to the ceiling. “No, we didn’t,” he returned grimly, wondering how he could be so stupid again. There was no excuse. He knew better. Damn it! He returned to her, an apology on his tongue, but how do you appropriately put into words an apology for not using a condom? He might’ve just gotten her pregnant. Holy hell....

  He must’ve turned a shade of white, for Darcy caressed his face with concern, even though he could read the apprehension clearly in her own expression. “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she said. “I’m not in the right time in my cycle.” She tried a smile for his benefit. “Besides, I read somewhere that it’s actually pretty difficult to get pregnant. There’s only a small window to hit the mark. What are the odds that you hit that mark the first time we don’t use a condom?”

  He shot her a derisive look. “My odds have been pretty good so far.”

  “Well, let’s not borrow trouble. Think positive.” She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and popped up, heading for the bathroom, saying over her shoulder before disappearing, “For the record, that was amazing. Repeat performances are requested and appreciated, Dr. Black.” She winked and shut the door.

  Chapter 16

  Rafe’s first Saturday at the clinic, he played every inch the part of the helpful, eager volunteer. He smiled, even engaged in flirty banter—something he never would’ve done in his old life when he was hyperfocused on his career and not at all on chasing the skirts around the hospital, like some doctors were known to do. But for every false smile he offered in the hopes of charming away any suspicion, Rafe took careful note of details all around. Unlike the men who simply used the women around him, particularly nurses, Rafe had always known that the nurses were the backbone of a working hospital. They knew the ins and outs, knew which doctors weren’t worth the paper their medical license was printed on and which doctors they’d choose if their own family members’ lives were at stake. They knew who was sleeping with whom and who was secretly stocking their own private pharmaceutical stores. In short, nurses were like an in-hospital network of the deepest connections, and Rafe wanted to make friends within that system.

  It was near the end of his first shift, and Rafe was itching to have a look around without eyes on him at all times. Although friendly, there was still a barrier, a “watch and see” attitude he had to circumvent. He needed them to let down their guard so he could roam unencumbered through this cavernous modern building. He tried to make small talk with some of the staff, even the janitor, but everyone kept to their roles pretty firmly. Of course he knew it would take time, but his impatience made him antsy. It finally came to the point where he had to leave or else draw suspicion, so he made his way to the locker room to grab his stuff. It was there he found the OB ward chief, Dr. Rolf Bulger, an older man with a balding pate and a thick Hungarian accent, who seemed an odd choice for an obstetrics ward, but Rafe realized he was sharp after only an hour in his company.

  Bulger finished changing his shoes and looked up to acknowledge Rafe.

  “You’re good,” he said with a short grunt as he stood. He added with a clap on Rafe’s shoulder and a weary expression, “You are a godsend. I’ve been asking for help for some time now but never help does it come.”

  “I offered as soon as I arrived in Cold Plains,” Rafe told Bulger, spreading his hands in a helpless gesture. “But I guess I had to wait for the right time.”

  “Bah. Approval nonsense. I’m being run ragged without the help I was promised, but nobody cares.” Rafe quietly took note of the open bitterness in Bulger’s tone, wondering where Bulger stood in Grayson’s army. No one spoke with such outward criticism against the Cold Plains way. Was Bulger someone Rafe could trust? If so, why would Grayson put someone on the outside in charge of the OB ward? For that question alone, Rafe knew to bide his time and hold his tongue. One careless slip, and everything could come crashing down. He couldn’t afford such a mistake.

  Bulger eyed him speculatively. “What’s your story, Black? Are you looking for purpose or something like that?”

  Rafe smiled. “Something like that.”

  Bulger waved away his enigmatic answer, irritation written in plain lines across his face. “Keep your secrets. I’m up to my eyeballs in intrigue. Your shift is up. You do good work. Whatever your motivation, the help is appreciated. Do you plan to return? Can I count on you?”

  Rafe nodded. “Absolutely. I enjoyed volunteering in the OB ward. It seems Cold Plains is blessed with fertile families.”

  “Yes,” Bulger grunted. “Successful, it is.”

  “Successful?”

  Bulger stopped short, as if realizing he’d said more than he should, but recovered with a shrug. “This English is still not my strength.... I mean, healthy babies…is good, yes?”

  “I’d say so,” Rafe agreed, but what about the unhealthy babies? Where’d they go? He didn’t see a NICU. “Where do the preemies go? Are they transported to a pediatric hospital elsewhere?”

  “We have state-of-the-art facility here. No need for transporting tiny babies. They grow, thrive, here. But you don’t worry about such things. I would not put you with the preemies. You work with healthy mothers and babies. That’s the best place for you. Leave the rest to me.”

  “I’ll go wherever I’m needed,” Rafe said, leaving it at that, but his mind was moving quickly. Bulger all but admitted there was a special ward for babies who were different in some way, whether premature or sickly. Where was that ward? And why was there so much secrecy? Earlier, he’d heard frightful whispers that imperfection of any kind set Grayson’s teeth on edge, and Rafe
had to wonder if that rumor didn’t have a grain of truth. Grayson was such an odd duck, frankly, Rafe wouldn’t put anything past the man. Was Devin imperfect in some way? Was that why Grayson kept him secreted away? If that were the case, Rafe didn’t care what perceived imperfection Devin suffered from; the boy belonged with him and he’d do whatever it took to bring him home.

  “Time to call it a night,” Rafe announced, grabbing his keys and wallet from the locker. “See you next Saturday?”

  “Yes. I look forward to working with you again, Dr. Black. You seem good, smart. We need more like you. Too many dumb and weak in this place.”

  Rafe didn’t know how to safely respond, so he simply smiled and waved before leaving the locker room.

  Rolf Bulger looked as sour as if he’d sucked a lemon for dinner instead of the filet mignon that’d been prepared earlier in preparation for this meeting. Samuel suppressed the urge to snap at the older man, irritated at the peevish stance he’d taken in regard to Samuel’s extracurricular activities. The tension in the room had grown to the point that there were nervous shuffles and cleared throats whenever Rolf started to speak, but the old fart wouldn’t be silenced, not this time.

  “This is going too far, Samuel,” Rolf said, his brows drawn in a thunderous line. “You are becoming a menace and foolish, to boot. You cannot keep doing this and expect no one to notice. These are babies, for Chrissakes!”

  “Babies no one knows about,” Samuel retorted coolly, shooting Fargo a look. The good doctor was fast becoming a pain in his side. He didn’t care to be schooled, by him or anyone. This was his town, and it seemed the doctor needed to be reminded who signed his paycheck. “What seems to be the problem?” he asked, settling in his chair with his glass of champagne. They were supposed to be celebrating, and yet Rolf was bringing down the mood with his whining. “I’ve heard no complaints....” He looked to Fargo for confirmation, which Fargo supplied with a jerk of his head. “See? There are no complaints from the women. Most are happy to be free of the burden of pregnancy. It’s a win-win, and everyone remains happy in our beautiful little oasis.”

  “What about the ones who wanted to keep their babies? Huh? What of them?” Rolf shot back, a speck of spittle flying in his exuberance. Samuel’s lip curled in disgust. He hated spit. He started to speak but Rolf wasn’t finished. “Forced abortions…it’s not right! They didn’t even know what had happened to them. You make me lie to these women, saying their babies had died in utero, all because they might’ve been yours. Oh yes, I know! I know what you do to these women and I know about these women who don’t come back from the infirmary. It’s sick! I won’t have any part of it any longer!”

  Fargo tensed, his fingers moving to his sidearm. Samuel stilled him with a murmured word, returning to Rolf, who was trembling with his outrage, his sense of conviction. The rest of the room had stilled, watching in rapt interest and perhaps fear. Samuel needed to take control before Rolf shot off like the loose cannon he’d become. He smiled, trying to calm the older man. “Rolf, there is no one in this room I respect more,” he lied easily, seeking to charm the older man. “I hear your concern and it pains me that you are so bothered by the choices that have been made for the good of the community.”

  “It’s for your own selfish gain, not the community,” Rolf countered in a low voice, seeking confirmation from the rest of the group but coming up empty. No one spoke out against Samuel so foolishly. Rolf’s old blue eyes registered sharp disappointment and even disgust at everyone’s reluctance, but he didn’t back down, the pain in the ass. “This has to stop,” he said.

  “We’ve discussed this, Rolf,” Samuel said with all the patience he didn’t feel. Yet he needed to pull off this charade. “I cannot have women claiming to have my offspring. I cannot be tied to one woman, one family. I belong to Cold Springs. My focus is the community. I am every child’s father.”

  “At this rate, you will be,” Rolf groused under his breath.

  Damn bastard. Samuel narrowed his stare but continued, his voice losing some of its kindness. “Enough. You have lost focus. You’re overworked. Once you have some rest, you’ll remember everything is done to the community’s greater good. You were on board with the lifestyle at one time. You will be again. You just need to be reminded of your priorities.”

  “Damn your—”

  “Chief,” Samuel interrupted in a hard tone. “Please escort the good doctor to his car. He’s finished here this evening. The doctor needs his rest.”

  Fargo approached the older man, who stared at the thick chief of police with a smidge of fear in his defiant stare. That’s right, you old coot. I have the power and you have none. A lesson you’d do well to remember. He smiled as Fargo forcibly helped the doctor from the room, leaving Samuel with the rest of his closest community members. He addressed the situation immediately, choosing to slay the elephant in the room before it rampaged out of control. He affected a contrite expression. “It seems there’s been some question as to how I’ve been handling the unfortunate situation with unwanted pregnancies. As you know, unwanted pregnancies are a blight on a community, something we strive to eradicate whenever we encounter it, for the good of Cold Plains. Trust me when I say that these young ladies were more than happy to be afforded a second chance at living the life they choose instead of being tied down with an unwanted child, born out of wedlock, without benefit of both mother and father. To my knowledge, none of the ladies were ones I’d spent time with,” he lied smoothly. Most were. He detested using a condom. He liked knowing there was nothing standing between his flesh and theirs, which meant, at times, the women conceived. He always slipped a morning-after pill in their drinks later, but sometimes, Mother Nature proved to be tricky. And the woman started getting soft and fat around the waist. He shut down the shudder of distaste and affected a warm smile. “Cold Plains means everything to me. All I do is for the good of the community. If you trust in nothing else, trust in that.”

  Relieved smiles broke out on faces throughout the room, and he knew he’d circumvented a potentially sticky issue. However, even as he smiled and shook hands as people filed out of the secret room built into the community center, he realized Fargo had been right. He couldn’t afford to play so decadently for the time being. More attention from the feds or that snot-nosed officer bent on pinning Johanna’s murder on him would only serve to destroy everything he’d so painstakingly built thus far.

  Thoughts of Penny, his most recent assistant and bed partner, jumped to mind and he realized damage control was necessary. He made a mental note to visit the girl in the infirmary, to play the part of a man genuinely devastated over his actions. He hadn’t meant to hurt her; her beauty had spurred him to a frenzy, he’d tell her. He’d carefully selected young Penny for her seemingly wild streak, knowing he could push her further than anyone else. And if she didn’t buy his contrite act and threatened to tell, he’d just have to produce his ace.

  He smiled. Was it brash of him to hope that she would threaten to tell Officer McCall how Samuel had practically raped her while she’d been tied helplessly to his bed? How else was he supposed to watch the color drain from her face when he showed her the pictures and video that’d been taken from a hidden location in his bedroom? How the videos showed, in full, nasty detail, how she’d been squealing and grunting with pleasure as he’d done unspeakably dirty things to her with full consent? Perhaps her parents would like a copy? Of course the segment of the video where he’d beaten her nearly to death was edited out. It would be her word against his, with damning evidence to the contrary. He’d paint her out to be a liar and a whore. And no one would be the wiser. He chuckled, his step light. It was good to be the king. Indeed, it was.

  Chapter 17

  Through the grace of God, Rafe managed to go through the motions of meeting with his regular patients, but his mind was traveling the corridors of the clinic, mentally strategizing his next move.

  Saturday loomed and he couldn’t wait. Darcy noticed his
preoccupation and called him on it that Friday night after they’d suffered through a bout of Darcy’s cooking, in spite of Rafe’s offer to take the lead in the culinary department.

  “What’s going on with you?” she asked. “Surely my cooking wasn’t that bad?”

  It was, but his thoughts were far from the indigestion he’d likely experience later. “Work stuff,” he lied, not wanting to involve Darcy more than needed. Although he’d shared his fears with her, he’d edited how deep he was going into this charade for the sake of his son. If he told her he was trying to find a way to infiltrate the clinic, she’d likely try to help, and he didn’t want to risk her getting hurt. He was dealing with thugs, even if they smiled and seemed neighborly on the outside. In a short time, Darcy had managed to get under his skin and he couldn’t shoulder another fear that he might lose someone he cared about. He smiled and pushed a stray hair from her eyes. “It’s nothing. So, here’s a question for you,” he said, turning the focus away from him for a moment. “Why are you really in Cold Plains? You never really answered the question, and it seems only fair that you tell me what’s going on from your angle when you know what I’m all about.”

  She pulled away, a small smile fixed on her lips. “That’s not entirely true,” she said. “Somehow I’m guessing that I don’t know the whole story. You’re a deep-well kind of guy, not a shallow pool.”

  Rafe stilled, surprised at how quickly she’d gained insight into his character. Her keen attention to detail both impressed and frightened him. He’d have to be careful around her. A part of him wished he could just pack up, Darcy included, and get the hell out of this place before they both ended up doing the dirt dance. But that wouldn’t help Devin. That wouldn’t solve anything. Agent Bledsoe was counting on him to help behind the scenes and he couldn’t let him down, not when he was working his ass off to bring Samuel Grayson down. He was willing to stand behind anyone dedicated to that single goal. “Finding my son is my sole focus,” he said, which was the truth. “Every night that goes by without finding him is like a knife in my heart. I’m scared that no matter how hard I search, it’ll be too late. He could be dead already.”