by Jule McBride
She leaned back in his embrace again, nodding as she rocked Little Shane. “Yeah. I—oh, Shane—” Her voice cracked. “I was so close.” She glanced down, comforting herself by cooing to the baby. She looked as if she’d run all the way to Wall Street from Greenwich Village to get home.
“How’d you get home, sweetheart?”
“Cab.” She drew in a sharp breath as if only now realizing what a close call she’d had. “I can’t believe I saw the whole thing. Shane, I didn’t even know what was happening. Jake suddenly spun around and fell. James ran inside. I…I feel bad about it, but I didn’t even move. I couldn’t. I think I went into shock. And then your brother came racing out….”
“Doc?”
She nodded. “When he first ran out, I didn’t know it was him. But after he left with Jake in the ambulance, everybody on the sidewalk said he saved Jake’s life. I immediately started trying to call you, but I couldn’t get through….”
Shane was still on hold. Should he give up, hang up, and call back? “Did you see anybody suspicious leave the scene?”
She shook her head. “The police started canvassing the street, asking the same question. Somebody said a tall blond man who was wearing a white Panama hat walked away quickly, looking suspicious. They said he was near Jake, which means he wasn’t any more than twenty feet from me. I gave a statement to one of the uniformed men. But why would anyone shoot Jake Lucas?”
Shane rubbed soothing circles on her back. “I don’t know.” Yet.
Lillian shook her head, trying to make sense of this. “Jake and I haven’t been formally introduced, Shane, but from everything you and Ethel told me, he’s a highly unlikely target for violence.”
“He is.” Jake Lucas was a family man. He had a wife, Dani, and two kids. He worked hard, went to church and paid taxes. But Shane’s years on the force had taught him that senseless things happened all the time. Not that it was right. Men such as Jake Lucas deserved nothing but the best. So did women like Lillian. And yet she’d somehow wound up married to Sam Ramsey.
“So, do you agree it’s a random attack, Shane?”
“Possibly.”
She was wearing high heels, which meant she was nearly eye level with Shane, and right now, her eyes looked big and brown. Doe-like, they were full of unspoken questions, and her obvious shock over the senseless violence tugged Shane’s heart. Gazing into her eyes, he realized she was far more trusting than he. She’d deny it, but whatever had really happened in her past hadn’t robbed her of innocence. By contrast, he was a closed book. Without even intending to, Shane always kept his cards close to the vest.
She shook her head again. “Why?” she asked simply.
As if Shane knew. He did his best to answer her. “This is a big city, with a lot of random crime. Otherwise, Jake runs Big Apple Babies. Maybe one of the parties in an adoption wasn’t satisfied. Maybe a parent wanted a child back after they gave it up.” When Shane first took his job, he and Jake had discussed the countless possible security risks at such an agency. It was why Shane had installed a new state-of-the-art alarm system, as well as outdoor and indoor surveillance cameras.
He frowned, again considering hanging up the phone and redialing. He didn’t. Law enforcement work always meant waiting. Cops and their ilk had the patience of saints. He sighed. “I just wish I’d been there.”
“Shane—” Lillian stretched, nuzzling her face against his cheek. “I should have guessed you’d think this was your fault. It isn’t. You know that, don’t you?”
He didn’t know any such thing. “I should have been there for both you and Jake.”
“You were with the baby. You can’t be in two places at once.”
No, he couldn’t. And now he was going to have to leave Lillian and go to work. He was still furious at Fin, but at least he knew Lillian would be fine in the apartment, since the agents were watching. They were all highly trained and competent. The crème de la crème. Shane would give them that much.
The line suddenly clicked on. “Detective Sean McSween from the Thirteenth Precinct speaking. Is this Shane Holiday?”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry it took me so long. We’re questioning potential witnesses. A lot of the Big Apple Babies staff came over to the hospital.”
“No problem. How’s Jake?”
Lillian’s eyes were now wide with worry, so Shane tipped the phone, letting her listen. As she and the baby snuggled closer, Shane lifted the coiled phone cord from between them, draping it more conveniently behind Lillian’s back.
“Jake’s all right,” the detective said. “There’s a doctor with him, Winston Holiday—” The detective paused.
“Yeah,” Shane said. “Same Holiday. He’s my brother.”
“Well, you ought to be damn proud of him. He saved Jake Lucas’s life. Mr. Lucas lost a lot of blood, and it’s a rare type, but the hospital found a donor, and now the patient’s seeing visitors. He’s weak, but otherwise fine.”
Shane sighed in relief. Even if he hadn’t been there, the way he should have, Doc was on the scene. He imagined how Doc must have felt, running into the street to help his boss and friend. Good work, little brother, he thought.
Squeezing Lillian’s shoulder again, Shane tried not to think too much about the fact that she’d been on that sidewalk, too. He repositioned the phone more comfortably under his jaw. “So, it really looks like a random shooting, detective?”
“Call me McSween. We’re a hundred percent sure it was. The shot was fired by a pedestrian on Waverly Place. We traced him to the subway on West Fourth Street.”
“West Fourth,” Shane murmured. The station was a hub, with seven trains heading through Manhattan and into Brooklyn and Queens. Times Square station, where every train in the city was available, was only a stop away. “From West Fourth, the guy could have gone anywhere.”
“You got it,” said McSween. “I doubt we’ll catch him.”
Shane nodded. “I’m headed over there.”
“I’ve got an assistant with me. We’d rather hook up at Big Apple Babies, if you don’t mind showing us the tapes from the surveillance cameras trained on the street.”
“Not at all. We can watch the tapes in my office.” Hanging up, Shane decided he’d call Doc later and get his take on the situation.
Lillian’s voice was heartbreakingly brave. “You’ve got to go to work, right?”
He nodded grimly. Lifting a hand, he ran the back of it down her cheek; it lingered, stilled by the power of sheer touch, then his fingers gently stroked. Seeing the worry in her eyes, he spoke the next words before thinking them through, “Lillian, do you think you could ever really live with a cop?” What was he doing? he wondered, his heart suddenly thudding. Proposing to the woman he’d already married? He’d never even told her he loved her.
A slight smile touched her lips. “I think I already do live with a cop, Shane,” she returned, and then doubt clouded her eyes. “Still, you’re an ex-cop. And I…I don’t want you in danger. Frankly, I’d rather you did anything else for a living.”
He couldn’t help but smile, a slow twist of a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “What would you rather see me do?”
She shrugged. “Buy a fishing boat?” she suggested. “Sell ice cream to kids. Run a self-service laundry. Anything safe.”
“I’m usually not in any danger.”
She didn’t look entirely convinced. Still, he wasn’t usually in danger at his current job. But what about his future? Gazing at her and the baby, he realized he hadn’t even thought about the career path he’d take when all this was over. Two years ago, he’d been so anxious to trap Delilah Fontenont that he’d given up his badge in East Texas, along with a much better salary and benefits package. He always figured he’d become a full-time detective again.
But maybe not. Maybe he’d rather keep himself safe for a family he loved. For Lillian and their son. He would if Lillian wanted him to. Suddenly, he felt an overpowering urge to simp
ly grab their bags and head south. He really felt he wouldn’t rest easily until he saw Lillian and the baby calmly rocking on the porch of his cabin in East Texas. Or sitting in his Aunt Dixie Lynn’s warm yellow kitchen on Bayou Teche. “Lock the door behind me, Lillian,” he found himself saying. “Don’t leave it open the way we do sometimes.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
He loved watching those words form on lips he had the swift urge to capture in a kiss. I promise. He wished he had time right now to talk about other kinds of promises…commitments. “I’m taking my beeper.” He leaned and scribbled down the number he should have given her before now. “You call immediately if…” If, by some crazy off-chance, trouble winds up on our doorstep. The Ramseys, for instance. “…If you need anything.”
“I promise,” she repeated.
Once again, he reminded himself that agents were outside, ready to descend faster than angry hornets. The recollection of how they’d burst into the apartment when he and Lillian were baby-sitting now came as a comfort.
Her voice was throaty. “You be careful, Shane.”
“You don’t need to worry. Jake’s already out of danger.”
“I didn’t say I was worried about Jake,” Lillian returned tenderly. “I said I’m worried about you, Shane.”
He smiled, leaning down a fraction. Right before he kissed her goodbye, he said in a husky drawl, “I never knew it could feel so good to have a woman worry over me.”
“So, a man could get used to it?” she’d murmured back.
As his lips closed over hers, the words were almost lost. “This man’s already used to it, Lillian.”
SHANE LIKED Sean McSween immediately. The detective was a big Irish guy, with razor-short black hair and bottle-green eyes. He looked smart. So did his assistant, a redhead named McNutt, who had alert eyes and let his boss do all the talking. After the three shook hands, McSween sent McNutt to the café across the street for three coffees, saying, “Holiday and I’ll wait on the sidewalk.”
“He seems sharp,” Shane commented, resettling his black Stetson more firmly on his head, then shoving his hands in his jeans pockets while he watched the young man hustle across the street, through traffic.
“Smarter than a whip,” McSween agreed with a chuckle that made his green eyes sparkle. “Every morning, I fear I’m training my replacement.”
Shane smiled. “I doubt it.”
Apparently caught off duty, McSween was wearing khaki shorts and a T-shirt that said World’s Best Dad. Now he glanced down. “Got the shirt for Father’s Day,” he explained.
“Kids?”
McSween nodded. “Boy named Romeo and a little girl, Colette. Wife’s name’s Britt.”
Shane nodded. As much as he wanted to get down to business, small talk was protocol, at least until they got inside. Shane wasn’t sure how much information he wanted to share, anyway, since he was close-mouthed by nature. But was it wise to continue hiding so much from Lillian? Shane guessed only twenty-twenty hindsight was going to make clear whether he was making the right decisions. Maybe he was holding a flush. Maybe he’d take a hit. Maybe he should fold.
Pushing aside the thoughts, Shane drawled, “Nice to have a family, huh?”
McSween cracked another smile. “I didn’t come by fatherhood naturally, believe me. Britt dragged me into it kicking and screaming. Now, I love every minute of it.”
Shane’s heart tugged. “My…wife and I just adopted a little boy from here. He just came home the other day.” My wife and I. The words echoed—warming Shane, making him feel he was a part of something. Making him feel, he realized, loved.
McSween’s eyes had widened in surprise. “You and your wife adopted from Big Apple Babies?”
“Yes, we did,” Shane returned, still trying on the words for size.
McSween merely gave the cursory, satisfied nod of a man long accustomed to family life. “Good for you. How old’s the lucky kid?”
“Newborn.”
McSween loosed another chuckle and shook his head. “Crying up a storm is he?”
Shane couldn’t help but smile back. “Yeah.”
“Not sleeping nights, huh?”
Shane let a telltale pause elapse, then he succinctly said, “Hell, no.”
The two men shared a good laugh.
It was the genuine icebreaker they’d been looking for. Now Shane glanced around. The adoption agency was down in the Village, on Waverly Place, which was a pie-slice of street wedged between Sixth and Seventh avenues. Right above Shane’s head was a catchy sign, designed by Grantham Hale, an advertiser who, like Shane, had gotten children from the agency. Hanging over the street, the sign was fashioned to look like a huge diaper pin, and through the bottom metal rod of the pin was a white banner, presumably of diaper cloth, on which the agency name was written.
McNutt was coming across the street, carrying bags. “All they had was cappuccino,” he apologized.
Shane shook his head. “C’mon, you guys. Don’t they sell plain old coffee anywhere in this town?”
McSween laughed. “You’ve got a helluva drawl. Where are you from, anyway?”
“Mostly Texas. Spent time in Louisiana.”
McSween squinted with real concern. “I heard all the coffee down south tastes like river water.”
Shane merely shrugged. “One man’s poison is always another’s pleasure.” He led them inside, passing murals in the downstairs hallway depicting gold, red and green apples. Beneath the murals ran the agency’s motto: Big Apple Babies are babies of all kinds!
“Mr. Lucas’s office,” McSween murmured.
Shane nodded as they passed a frosted glass door, on which black block lettering said Jake Lucas: Director. At the end of the first floor hallway was the sealed records room, where Big Apple Babies’ confidential files were stored. Shane hung a left, headed into his office and turned on the lights.
He dropped his hat on a desk, then nodded toward the chairs in front of a TV. “Have a seat. I’ll get the tapes.”
As soon as he returned, Shane quickly dumped four sugars into his cappuccino, grabbed the remote control and popped in a tape. It showed a high-angle view of Waverly Place, shot from a camera attached to the Big Apple Babies sign. The street was crowded; people walked in and out of the shot. At the bottom of the screen, in white digital numbers, was the date and time.
McSween said, “It happened about nine.”
Shane hit fast-forward. Later, they’d go back and watch all the tapes. It was boring work, but there was a chance Jake had been intentionally targeted, and often a perpetrator came to a crime scene days, even weeks, before committing a crime. For now, the law officers would start by viewing the crime itself.
Shane stared intently at the screen, feeling oddly bereft when Lillian appeared. The black-and-white videotape was grainy, and seeing her through the eye of a camera seemed impersonal. He’d loved the woman intimately, but now he was watching her as if she were a stranger.
Impulsively, he rewound. Watching Lillian come into the frame again, he saw what he hadn’t the first time—how much she’d changed since he’d moved in with her. Sure, he’d noticed that her eyes had become a little less haunted, that her steps were lighter. But now, in the eye of the camera, he saw the changes for what they were—staggering. The baby and I have made her happy, Shane thought with a start. She trusts me. She loves me. She’s not really afraid anymore. He shifted uncomfortably, pushing down guilt, and thinking of the agents watching her. He could no longer deny that this whole situation had gotten beyond him.
He heard McNutt say, “Now, there’s a gorgeous woman. She’s got legs that don’t quit.”
Shane almost said, “She’s my girlfriend.” But that wasn’t the truth. Hitting the play button, he said, “She’s my wife. Lillian.”
“No kidding?” said McSween.
Shane nodded. “No kidding. She was here signing papers having to do with…our baby.” Our baby. He liked saying that so much.
“Yeah, she gave a statement. She—”
The conversation ended abruptly.
On the screen, Jake and James Sanger appeared behind Lillian. Over the traffic sounds came a loud pop. Jake’s left arm flew out wildly; his whole body spun and he fell. Quickly, James leaned over his friend, saw the severity of the injury, then fled for the doors and help while the crowd in front of Lillian parted like a river. Lillian’s stunned eyes searched the faces of people coming toward her. From this camera angle, Shane could only see their backs, but he could imagine their eyes widening in warning. He could almost feel the beginnings of Lillian’s fear—her increased heartbeat, the race of her pulse. Suddenly, someone broke ranks and ran.
Lillian turned, gaped, then stood stock-still. She’d just now realized a man behind her had been shot, and she couldn’t move.
She looked so terrified and beautiful, merely standing there, with her white sundress blowing in the breeze, that Shane couldn’t take it. He wanted to turn back time, swoop down and carry her from the sidewalk.
As he punched still, and then rewind, Shane felt McSween’s hand clamp down on his shoulder. McSween squeezed. “She’s okay, buddy.”
“Yeah,” Shane managed. “It just kind of shook me up.” He blew out a sigh, nodded toward the TV, and hit play again. “Here. This time maybe I’ll notice the suspect.”
But as the tape rolled, Shane watched Lillian come into the frame again. Once more, she was standing there. Terrified. Frozen in time.
In that second, Shane was sure he’d give his life to save hers. He’d simply never seen beauty so compelling. As soon as he could, he was taking her back down South, if she’d go. Sure, bad things could happen anywhere and, per capita, some smaller U.S. towns were more dangerous than New York City. But he wanted to give Lillian her little white brick house with the picket fence. He felt he wouldn’t rest until they—him, her, and the baby—were all piled into a U-haul truck.
