by Beverly Long
Jamison answered on the first ring. “Yes,” he said.
“Jamison, it’s Liz. It’s over. She had a little girl. She’s a beauty.”
“Mom and baby okay?”
“Yes. Pretty tough delivery but Mary did great.”
“Did she hold the baby?”
“Yes. And then she handed her to me and said that I better get to know my daughter.”
For once, Jamison seemed speechless.
“Have you heard from Detective Montgomery?” Liz asked.
“Yes. He called late last night. I told him Mary was in labor. He said he would have some guards posted outside of Mary’s room. Did you see them?”
She had. She’d appreciated them, but it had been just one more painful reminder of the man she’d loved and lost. He took care of things. He made things happen. He made it tough on the bad guys. “Yes, I did.”
“I’m supposed to call him once I talk to you. They want to move Mary as soon as possible. He was going to have somebody talk to the doctor.”
She knew it was for the best, but it still hurt to know that she would soon lose Mary from her life. “She can’t be moved until she signs the adoption agreement. Or, at the very least, she needs to be moved somewhere we can get to her. You need to call and tell him that.”
“Why can’t you call him?”
She didn’t bother to answer.
“What’s going on here?” Jamison asked.
She didn’t want to talk about it. Not yet. She’d managed not to think about Sawyer the entire time Mary had been in labor. She couldn’t let her mind go there yet. She wasn’t ready. “Jamison, I know I’m not making much sense. But you need to trust me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m not going to be seeing Sawyer again. I want something that he won’t let himself have.”
“It’s still not all that clear,” Jamison said.
“I don’t understand it. Why should you?”
“You okay?”
Trust Jamison to get down to the nitty-gritty. “Yes. I’m fine. And next week, I’ll be better. And in a year or two, I might even be good.”
“Anything I can do?”
“Yes. Get that paperwork to Mary. I want to bring my daughter home.”
Liz put her cell phone away. She walked another two blocks to the grocery store. There she filled her cart with bottles, formula, diapers and lotion. The next stop was a department store. She got some blankets, T-shirts and one-piece sleepers. She knew she’d need a hundred more things but she could always ask Carmen or Jamison to help her out.
Funny. When Mary had first asked her to adopt the baby, Liz had thought Sawyer would be around to help. Had looked forward to sharing the baby with him. That wouldn’t happen. And she needed to stop hoping, stop praying that it might change. He was gone. She better start getting used to it.
When she got home, she dropped her purchases on the kitchen counter and went back to her bedroom, taking her clothes off on the way, leaving just her bra and panties on. She lay back on the bed, closed her eyes and assumed sleep would come. After all, she’d been up for thirty-some hours. But sleep, being a slippery fellow, danced just out of her grasp. She tossed and turned, her body too keyed up to get any real rest. After an hour, she got up.
She made herself a cup of tea and a grilled-cheese sandwich. She checked her voice mail. No calls. Not able to be patient, she dialed Jamison’s number.
“Yes,” he said.
“Have you been to see Mary? Did she sign?”
“You should be sleeping, Liz.”
“I know. Well?”
“It’s the strangest thing. I can’t get in touch with Howard. He’s not answering his cell phone. I’ve left four messages on his pager, and his assistant doesn’t know where he is.”
Howard Fraypish was never unreachable. He carried a backup cell phone just in case his primary one went dead. “Are you sure you have the right number?” She rattled it off.
“I know the number. I’ve left messages. I can’t do anything until I get the paperwork from him.”
If Mary hadn’t gone into labor a week early, Liz would have had all the loose ends tied up. Now she needed Howard. “I’ll go over to his office.”
“He’s not there.”
“Maybe his assistant can find the documents on his PC. She’ll print them off for me. I’ve known her for years.”
On her way out of the apartment, she stopped to check her mailbox in the odd event that Howard had mailed the information to her. She opened the slot and pulled out an assortment of bills, a magazine and...a plain white envelope with her name scratched across it.
She slid her thumb under the flap and pulled out the single sheet.
Stay away from Mary Thorton and her baby. Otherwise, they die. You don’t want that on your conscience.
Liz slammed her mailbox shut. Damn it. It was supposed to be over. Mirandez was in jail. She waited for the fear to hit her, but all she could feel was bone-deep anger. Somebody had threatened Catherine. Her child.
She would not let them win.
She grabbed both the envelope and the sheet of paper by the edges and slid them into her purse. Once she’d seen Howard, she would take the letter to the police.
* * *
“I’M SORRY, LIZ. Howard didn’t leave any paperwork for either you or Jamison.”
She was not in the mood to be put off. “Can’t you just get it off his computer?”
The woman looked a little shocked. “I don’t know his password,” she said. “Even if I did, I’m not sure that would be appropriate.”
“Look, Helen. What’s inappropriate is for Howard to have left his office without providing us with the necessary paperwork to complete this adoption. Now he won’t return any calls. I want to know what’s going on. This is so unlike him.”
Now the woman looked really nervous. “I...I’m not sure what’s going on,” she confessed. “Howard has been acting so strange. Real nervous. Almost jumpy. Have you seen him lately?”
“Yes.” She’d seen him at the hospital when Melissa Stroud had her baby. “He seemed a little scatterbrained but nothing unusual for Howard.”
“Twice in the past week, I’ve caught him sleeping at his desk in the middle of the afternoon. When I arrive in the mornings, I can tell he’s been working all night.”
It didn’t sound good, but then again, she had her own sleep issues. “Maybe he’s just working too hard. Does he have new clients?”
The woman shook her head. “No, just the opposite. Business is off. If it wasn’t for OCM and a couple other agencies that he works with, I’m not sure I’d have a desk to sit at. Last week I wanted to order a new fax machine and he told me to hold off—that cash was a little tight this month.”
Liz did not have time to worry about Howard. She had plenty of her own worries. She stood up and slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “If you talk to him, tell him it’s imperative that he call Jamison. We need the paperwork, and we need it now. If I don’t have it within twelve hours, I’m going to recommend to Jamison that OCM find a new attorney.”
Liz left Howard’s office and tried to grab a cab to take her to the police department. Two passed her by without even slowing down. In her hurry to leave the apartment, she’d forgotten her cell phone. She changed her path and headed back toward her apartment. Once there, she could call for a cab.
She was four blocks from home when three men jumped out of the bushes. All three wore dark coats and blue jeans, and each had a ski mask over his face.
Liz looked around for help, but the residential street was empty. “What do you want?” she asked, forcing words around her fear.
“Shut up,” one man said. Then he put his hand on her shoulder and pushed her hard. Liz s
tumbled back and stuck both arms out, breaking her fall. Sharp rocks cut into the palms of her hand. She scrambled to her feet, unwilling to let them tower over her.
Another man grabbed for her purse, yanking it so hard that the shoulder strap broke. Liz didn’t try to fight him for it. The first man stepped forward again. Liz braced herself for another push. She didn’t expect the fist to her jaw, sending rockets of pain through her whole face.
She tasted blood.
“You stay away from Mary Thorton and her baby,” the third man said. “If you don’t, you’ll be sorry. This is just a little sample. Just because Dantel’s in jail doesn’t mean he’s not still in charge.” Then he hit her in the stomach. She doubled over. When she managed to catch her breath and straighten up, they were gone.
It had all happened in less than a minute. She’d been attacked in broad daylight. She took stock of her injuries. She gently moved her jaw back and forth, very grateful when everything seemed to work. Blood oozed from several small cuts on the palms of her hands. She bent down to pick up her purse, and pain shot through her midsection. Damn. She probably had a broken rib or two. She sank to her knees and managed to grab the strap. Awkwardly, she got to her feet and half walked, half ran the rest of the way to her apartment.
Once inside, she got to the sink and spit out the blood in her mouth. She walked over to the telephone, careful not to look in the mirror on the way, and dialed 911.
Chapter Sixteen
Two officers and an ambulance responded. The police questioned her briefly. She gave them the best description she could of the men and told them what they’d said about Dantel Mirandez. She handed over the letter and envelope. Then the ambulance transported her to the hospital, the same one she’d left just hours earlier literally walking on air. Now she lay flat on her back, wheeled in, presented to the nurse on duty like a stuffed turkey on Thanksgiving Day.
The doctor put six stitches in the inside of her cheek, where her teeth had cut into the tender flesh. He also cleaned out the rocks in her hands and wrapped them up in white gauze. Then someone else took films of her ribs and substantiated that one was cracked. The doctor didn’t even bother to wrap it, just told her to move carefully for a couple days.
She’d just snapped her jeans when Sawyer burst into the exam room. When he saw her, he stopped so suddenly that his body almost pitched forward over his feet.
He stared at her. First at her swollen jaw, then at her wrapped hands. When he finally spoke, his voice seemed rusty, as if he hadn’t used it for a while.
“Are you okay?” The minute he said it, he knew it was an insane question. One look at her told him she wasn’t okay.
“How did you know I was here?” she asked.
“The responding officers ran Mirandez’s name through the database. I came up as the arresting officer. So, they called me.”
It sounded so simple. It didn’t give any clue to the absolute terror he’d felt when they’d told him about her injuries. “He’ll pay for this,” Sawyer told her. “I promise you. He will pay for this.”
She didn’t say anything. Just stood there, holding her blouse together with one hand. He could see the pale blue silk of her bra against her soft skin. So beautiful. So fragile.
It was his fault this had happened. He never should have let Lieutenant Fischer talk him into taking her to Wisconsin in the first place. Mirandez wouldn’t have any reason to be going after her now.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry that bastard hurt you. I’m sorry I let him.”
She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind.
He tried again. “I expected him to go after Mary. I never thought you’d be the target. That was stupid of me. Now you’re paying the price.”
She dismissed his concerns with a wave of her free hand. “How could you have known? He’s been told the baby isn’t his. Why would he care about warning me away from Mary or the baby? Did they tell you about the letter?”
“I swung by the station and took a look at it. He spelled your name right this time,” Sawyer said, feeling the disgust well up in the back of his throat.
“I guess I didn’t notice,” she said.
“What exactly did the men say to you?” Sawyer asked. “Word for word, if you can remember.”
“They told me to stay away from Mary and the baby. Then they said that just because Dantel was behind bars it didn’t mean he wasn’t still in charge.”
Sawyer rubbed his forehead. He had a hell of a headache. It didn’t make sense. None of it. Not that he questioned that Mirandez had been able to communicate with his gang. That happened all the time. Prison bars didn’t prove to be a very strong barrier. Sometimes it was a phone conversation in code. Other times, a dirty guard willing to carry messages back and forth for a price.
Perhaps the order had come down before Mirandez learned that the baby wasn’t his. Whatever the reason, Sawyer would find out. “Is it okay for you to leave?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes.”
“I’ll take you home.”
“No.” The word exploded from her. He hadn’t expected less.
“Liz, be reasonable. You’re hurt. You can’t walk home. Just let me drive you.” He wanted to make sure she got safely inside her apartment. It was the least he could do.
“No,” she repeated. “I’m not ready to leave. I want to see Mary as long as I’m here.”
“I’ll wait,” he said.
“That’s not necessary,” she said.
She looked as if she’d rather be anywhere but with him. He couldn’t blame her. “We’re moving Mary tomorrow,” he said. “Guards will remain outside her door until then. We’re placing a plainclothes cop in the nursery just in case he’d go for...the baby.”
“Her name is Catherine.”
Catherine. He didn’t want to know that. Didn’t want to know anything about the baby. But Liz deserved to know that her baby would be safe. “Your boss told me that the baby goes to a temporary foster home for a couple days. The detective can go with her just in case.”
She chuckled, a dry, humorless laugh. “The foster parents should love that.”
“It’s not great, I agree. But it beats the alternative.”
“What happens when I bring her home? Does the detective stay until she’s in college?”
He could hear the sarcasm. “I don’t think that will be necessary. But maybe for a couple of weeks. We’re having the doctor certify that Mary was at or near a full-term pregnancy. We’ll provide that to Mirandez’s attorney. Just in case, we’re asking permission from the court to run a DNA match. We need to get a blood draw from Mirandez. That will prove conclusively that he’s not the father. But it will take several weeks before those results are available.”
“Capable Sawyer.”
“What?”
“Never mind. It was stupid. I’m just tired. I need to see Mary. You need to leave.” She buttoned her shirt. He looked away, not wanting to watch her hands, not wanting to think about how his own hands had unbuttoned her shirt, how he had literally shook with wanting her.
Because perhaps, in a lifetime or two, he might forget.
He heard her groan. She had her sweater half-on with one sleeve hanging free. The arm that should have filled it was wrapped around her waist. She was even paler than before. “What’s wrong?”
“Cracked rib.”
He hadn’t thought he could hate Mirandez any more than he already did. “Any other injuries that I can’t see?” he asked. He knew she hadn’t been raped. When the officers had contacted him, he’d asked that. Knowing that if she had, he’d have killed the men responsible. He would have laid down his badge and gone after them and ripped their hearts out.
She shook her head. “No. All in all, I think I got lucky.”
Lucky. As absur
d as it sounded, she was right. With no witnesses to stop them, it would have been easy for Mirandez’s men to slit her throat or put a bullet through her temple. But they hadn’t. They’d roughed her up and scared her, but they’d left her standing.
He took a step forward, then another, stopping just a foot away from her. Gently, he took her arm and pushed it through the sweater sleeve. With unsteady hands, he pulled both sides together, fastening the top button. Then the second one. The third.
Liz didn’t breathe. Couldn’t. Sawyer had his head bent, concentrating as he worked the buttons into the small holes, his strong fingers being so careful, so gentle. She thought her legs might not hold her. The man was helping her, dressing her like an adult would a child, and it was the most erotic thing that had ever happened to her.
When he finished with the last button, he lifted his head, meeting her eyes. He leaned forward, and ever so softly, he brushed his lips across her sore and swollen jaw. Then he reached for her bandaged hands, raised each one to his lips and gently kissed the tips of her fingers.
Then he gathered her small hands in his much larger ones, brought them to his chest and bent his head forward so that his forehead rested on hers. She could feel the beat of his heart pulsing through her body, sending crazy, wild, zigzag waves through her. His breath was hot, his skin cool, his body strong. She felt safe and protected. Yet weak and wanting for more.
“I love you,” he said, his voice just a whisper in her ear. “I’m so sorry you got hurt.”
She took in a deep breath, wanting to always remember the scent of Sawyer. She focused on his hands, which were still wrapped around hers. She wanted to remember the feel of his skin, the lines of his bones, the strength of his muscles. It wouldn’t be enough. But it would be all she had.
“Sawyer, you need to go.” She said it softly, all the malice gone. He was a good man. He’d suffered a great loss. She didn’t want to drag out the goodbyes, making either one of them suffer more.
