by Mallory Kane
“Sir? I need one more thing.”
Bellows’s jaw flexed, and he tapped a finger.
Matt felt sweat begin to prick the back of his neck. “I got the license on the vehicle the man was driving. I need it run so I can contact him to pay him the ten thousand.”
Shaking his head, Bellows took a silver pen from a silver holder and wrote something on a pad. Then he tore off the sheet and laid it on top of the stack of bills. “Call that number. You’ll find the man you’re looking for.”
Matt picked up the bills and stared at the telephone number written on the scrap of paper. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Thank you, sir.” He turned to leave.
“Watch out, son,” Bellows called after him. “You’re going to get your heart stomped on.”
Matt turned. “Pardon?”
Bellows picked up the phone. “You heard me. Now I’m late for my appointment.”
Matt turned and left. As he walked out to his pickup truck he muttered, “My heart is not involved.” But even to himself, it sounded as if he were protesting too much.
FAITH FOLDED THE LAST NAPKIN around the silverware and secured it. She looked at the clock over the door. She had about a half hour until dinner started—not even enough time to shower and change.
She leaned her elbows on the table and put her head, which was pounding, in her hands. She dreaded tomorrow with a passion. Even Tanya Gossett’s assurance that the governor’s staff would compensate her for her lost revenue wasn’t enough.
Glo came in through the kitchen and reached under the counter for her apron. She shook it out, then tied it around her waist and ran her hands down its front, ironing out the fold lines.
Then she scrutinized Faith with a critical eye.
“Honey, stop worrying about the town hall meeting. The governor’s got dozens of people on her staff that do this kind of thing all the time. You’re not going to have to worry about it.”
“I know they’ll take care of what the governor wants. I’m just wondering if I’ll still have a café after it’s all over.”
“Oh, sure you will. I remember the last time Lila did this, years ago. She paid your Gram way more than she expected. That was when she had the booth seats recovered.”
Faith sighed. “Probably because they got torn up during the meeting.”
“No—well, maybe a couple of ’em got ripped. But she said for ages afterward that it was worth it.”
“Well, I hope this is.”
The bell over the door sounded. Faith looked up. An old-time cowboy walked in, with pressed jeans and polished boots and a big smile on his face.
She did a double take. It was Henry Kemp. Stealing a glance at Glo, she saw that the older woman’s mouth was open. Faith wondered if she looked as shocked as Glo did to see Henry smiling. He never smiled.
“Henry,” she started, but her voice was croaky with surprise. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Henry, hi.”
“Faith, my girl. I just stopped by to make sure everything is ready for Lyric and Lacy’s birthday party tomorrow.”
Faith felt the blood drain from her face, leaving her light-headed. “Oh. I’m afraid there’s going to be a problem with tomorrow.”
Henry’s big smile disappeared, and in its place was a suspicious glare. “Oh, yeah? And what would that be?”
Faith’s throat went dry. Was he baiting her? Surely he’d heard about the town hall meeting. Everyone in town knew about it.
“It’s…it’s Governor Lockhart’s town hall meeting. The café will be closed all day until time for the meeting.”
Henry’s florid face grew purple with rage. “Governor Lockhart,” he said in a mocking tone. “The governor’s meeting is going to deprive my little twin great-grandbabies of their birthday surprise. That’s just perfect.” Henry let loose a few curse words.
“Henry, I am so sorry, but I really didn’t have a choice.”
“Hell, you think I don’t know that? Damn Lila Lockhart gets anything she wants, just like all the Lockharts. If they can’t get it by legal means, they’ll just up and take it. Just like they took my land and didn’t give me not one penny for the oil.”
“I’ll make it up to you. Why don’t you and the girls come in Monday afternoon. Their banana splits and whatever else you want will be my treat. And you’ll have the place to yourselves.”
Henry’s face lost a bit of its purple stain. “It’s not your fault, Faith. And I can pay for my own great-grandaughters’ birthday treats.” He took a couple of steps backward, toward the door. Then he lifted his arm and wagged his forefinger at her. “But you mark my words. This isn’t the end of this. Lila’s going to be sorry she ruined my girls’ birthday. One way or another, she’ll be sorry.”
He turned on his boot heel and stomped out the door.
“Sheez,” Glo breathed. “He was fighting mad.”
Faith shivered. “He gets so angry it worries me. Did you see how dark red his face got? I’m afraid he’s going to have what Gram called an apoplexy one day.” She took a shaky breath. “What do you think he meant when he said Lila would be sorry?”
Glo met her gaze. “I don’t know, but the way he said it spooked me.”
“Me, too,” Faith agreed.
THAT EVENING MATT WENT to his apartment to shower and change. He took a few minutes to put a coat of varnish on the crib, which needed it after standing up through Matt’s infancy and his sisters.
He headed over to the café around eight o’clock. As he drove up, he saw a dark figure slip around the side of the building. It looked like Rory Stockett. The height and weight were about right, and Stockett would know that the door to the kitchen stayed open until nine o’clock.
Matt parked and headed around the building behind the stealthy figure. He didn’t even try to stay quiet. Gravel crunched under his boots. In the light from a streetlamp, Matt could see that it was Stockett. Just as the man got to the kitchen door he noticed Matt.
He growled audibly and lunged for the doorknob.
“Hold it right there, Stockett.”
“You! Get away from me,” Stockett said. He tried to turn the knob, but Matt pushed him away.
Stockett stumbled backward, nearly losing his footing. He took a second or two to right himself. He came at Matt, but Matt was ready for him. The con man fought like a schoolkid on a playground, fists doubled and flailing wildly. Matt had no trouble dodging his blows, but Stockett’s fury kept him swinging.
Matt landed a blow to Stockett’s stomach. That stopped him. He doubled over with a whoosh of breath and fell back against the brick wall of the café.
“What did I tell you about showing up here again?” Matt said, standing over him.
Stockett was still bent over. He coughed a couple of times, then slowly got his feet under him and prepared to stand. By the time Matt saw the glint of steel, it was almost too late.
Stockett came at him like a bull that’s seen red, a knife clutched in his fist and his arm raised above his shoulder.
Matt fell back, balancing on the balls of his feet and preparing to deflect Stockett’s attack. The other man wasn’t a pro with a knife. The way he held it in his fist told Matt that. He sidestepped Stockett’s rush, timing it so he could grab his wrist. He almost missed though, when his bum knee nearly gave way when he stepped sideways.
Recovering quickly, he twisted Stockett’s arm behind his back. His thumb searched for the pressure point on the inside of his wrist that would paralyze his fingers and force him to drop the knife.
But by this time Stockett was enraged. He struggled, and the knife blade slid across Matt’s forearm. Shock made Matt loosen his grip.
Stockett whipped around, barely missing Matt’s chest as he ducked backward and stumbled, thanks to his bum knee. With three seconds, he’d recovered his balance. He whirled, aiming a roundhouse kick at Stockett’s extended arm.
He connected. The knife clattered to the ground. Ignoring his cut, Matt elbowed Stockett in the temple, then
jerked him up by his collar and slammed him against the brick wall.
“What did I tell you about coming back here?”
“You can’t tell me what to do! Faith’s mine!” Stockett yelped. “She’s my fiancée.”
Matt got his bloody forearm under Stockett’s chin. “No, she’s not,” he growled between clenched teeth. “You’re just the sperm bank.”
Stockett struggled, but all Matt had to do to stop him was push a little harder against his throat.
He gurgled.
“If I catch you around here again, you’re going to jail for stalking.”
“Don’t threaten me, you—”
Matt put more pressure on Stockett’s throat. “Now get out of here, and don’t bother Faith again.”
Stockett tried to speak but couldn’t. A part of Matt’s brain registered the sound of the kitchen door opening, letting light pour out into the alley.
“Do you understand?” he asked Stockett.
With difficulty, the other man nodded.
Matt grabbed his collar again and shoved him toward the street.
Once Stockett was out of Matt’s reach, he turned back. “I’ll get you for this, whoever you are. You are a dead man.”
Matt laughed. “The name’s Soarez. Matt Soarez.”
“Matt!” It was Valerio. “What the hell’s going on out here? Should I call the sheriff?”
“No,” Matt replied, watching to make sure Stockett was really gone. “It was just that slimebag Stockett. I had to remind him that he’s not welcome around here.”
“Good for you. Now come inside and have some dinner.”
Matt followed Valerio into the kitchen, where Faith was pulling a freshly baked pan of rolls from the oven. “What was going on out there, Valerio?”
She glanced up and almost dropped the pan. “Matt! What happened? You’re bleeding.”
He’d almost forgotten about the cut on his forearm. He looked down at it. Damn. It was deeper than he’d thought. “Valerio,” he said. “Would you mind taking a towel and picking up the knife out there? It might come in handy if I decide to charge Stockett with assault.”
“Rory?” Faith gasped. “Rory did this?”
“He was sneaking around by your kitchen door. I told him to go away.”
“Oh, Matt. We’ve got to stop that bleeding.” She picked up a fresh kitchen towel and wrapped it around his arm. “You’re going to need stitches.”
“I don’t think so—”
“Of course, you are. We need to get you to over to Holy Cross Hospital. It’s only five miles away. I’ll drive you. Glo can close down tonight. Since we won’t be opening at all tomorrow, I can close out the register in the morning.”
Matt started to object, but he knew Faith was right. The pressure of the towel against the cut had increased the throbbing to a level that could definitely be called pain, and so far, the bleeding hadn’t slowed down. “I can drive myself,” he protested.
“No, you can’t. Now let’s go.” Faith’s mouth was set, and her eyes sparked with determination. He hadn’t known her long, but he knew that look. There was no changing her mind.
Chapter Eight
Dr. Larry Kendall was the doctor on call in the emergency room at Holy Cross Hospital. When he came into the examining room, he greeted Faith warmly.
“How’s that ankle?” he asked her as he unwrapped the bloody towel from Matt’s arm.
She stuck her foot out. “It’s fine,” she said. “My ego still aches though.”
Dr. Kendall laughed. “In the first month or so of her pregnancy, Faith slipped on a French fry and twisted her ankle. What happened here, Mr.—”
“Soarez. Matt Soarez. I ran into a little trouble in an alley.”
Faith jumped in. “He stopped the baby’s father from breaking in to the café,” she said. “Rory attacked him with a knife.”
Dr. Kendall assessed Matt. “You know I’m obligated to report this to the police.”
Matt’s lips thinned, and he nodded.
Faith rubbed the side of her tummy. She hadn’t known that knife wounds had to be reported. Rory might be arrested, and Faith wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about that. She knew for a fact that she would never allow Rory in her life again. But he was also the baby’s father. It hurt her to think he would have a record.
Dr. Kendall prodded and squeezed Matt’s arm. “Well, Faith is right,” he said. “You do need stitches.”
He grabbed a plastic basin off a shelf and opened a bottle labeled Sterile Saline. He irrigated Matt’s arm as he talked. Matt grimaced.
Faith shivered. She was sure that the liquid pouring over the open cut burned.
“So who are you, Mr. Soarez? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you around this area.”
“That’s right. I’m in town temporarily, working on a construction project.”
“And you just happened to be at Faith’s café tonight when her ex showed up?”
“He—Matt’s been doing some work for me,” Faith said quickly.
“I see,” Kendall said. He pulled a bottle labeled Povidone-Iodine down from the shelf and irrigated the wound with the brown, strong-smelling liquid. Matt sat stoically, but his face paled.
The doctor was nodding. “I think you’re going to need at least five—maybe six. We’ll see how it goes.”
“I’ve got to be able to work tomorrow.”
Dr. Kendall looked up at Matt from over the rims of his glasses. “Well, we’ll see about that.”
It didn’t take the doctor a minute to neatly tie off six sutures in Matt’s forearm. Finally, he wrapped gauze around the wound and taped it. “There you go. You’ll need to get back in here in five days or so and get the stitches taken out.” Kendall sent Matt a knowing look. “Meanwhile, take it easy.”
“Don’t worry, Doctor,” Faith said. “I’m going to make sure he doesn’t hurt those stitches.”
Kendall reached for the button on the intercom. “I need to have the admissions clerk call the police.”
“Doctor,” Matt said. “Wait a minute.”
Kendall turned and gave Matt a suspicious look.
“I’d like a couple of minutes to talk with you before you make that report.”
Kendall’s eyes narrowed. “Go ahead.”
Matt sent Faith a glance. “In private.”
The doctor assessed him. “Give me a minute, then,” he said and turned to Faith. “Are you seeing your ob/ gyn regularly?”
She nodded. “Sure. In fact, I have an appointment next week.”
He pointed at her feet. “Mind if I have a look?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He sat and gently tugged her pant leg up, first right and then left. “Hmm.”
He leaned down to press gently on the skin around her ankles. “How has your blood pressure been?”
“Dr. Jones said it was a little high.”
The doctor nodded. “I don’t suppose you remember the numbers? See how swollen your feet are? Is this happening a lot?”
“Well, not a lot. Dr. Jones mentioned it last week. He told me to stay off my feet as much as possible.”
Dr. Kendall looked up at her. “And have you?”
Faith nodded. “It’s just been busy, you know.”
The look Dr. Kendall gave her was filled with censure and concern. “Has Dr. Jones talked to you about preeclampsia?” He asked as he took her blood pressure.
Faith nodded. She hadn’t understood a lot of what her ob/gyn had said. He talked fast and used a lot of medical terminology. But she did understand that it was dangerous.
“Have you been having headaches? Nausea? Vomiting?”
Faith had to admit that she had been experiencing all those symptoms. “But like I said—”
“You’ve been busy. I know. Well, your pressure is definitely high. It’s not dangerously high, which is good, or I’d have to admit you. And while your ankles are swollen, they’re not too bad. If any of your symptoms worsen, I will put you into the hospital. Understand?�
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Faith nodded miserably. “I understand, but I can’t go into the—”
“Listen to me, Faith. I’m ordering you to stay off your feet unless it’s absolutely necessary.” He shook his finger at her. “I’m talking no more than a couple of hours a day. And I’m ordering you to call Dr. Jones tomorrow—well, make that Monday, since tomorrow’s Saturday.”
Dr. Kendall turned and looked at Matt, who nodded resolutely. Faith had no doubt that he would make sure Dr. Kendall’s orders were followed to the letter.
“And,” he said again, “if anything happens over the weekend, I’m on call here.” He turned to Matt again. “I’m assuming you two are close? You bring her in.”
“Close?” Faith said, her voice tinged with panic that even she could hear. “No. Well, I mean—”
“Bring her in,” Dr. Kendall repeated.
Dr. Kendall picked up the folder that sat on the gurney beside Matt and made some notes. Then he pulled a blank form out of a drawer and wrote some more. He handed the single form to Faith.
“Give this to the admissions clerk, and don’t forget what I said. Come to the E.R. here if anything happens over the weekend, and call Dr. Jones on Monday.”
Faith nodded. She looked at Matt, who sent her a small smile. “I’ll just wait out here, then.”
Matt nodded.
As soon as Dr. Kendall closed the door behind Faith, Matt spoke. “I have a couple of requests, Doctor.”
“Okay.” Dr. Kendall set the folder down and crossed his arms.
“When I said I have to be able to work tomorrow, I meant it. I specialize in surveillance,” he said.
Dr. Kendall picked up the folder again. “You listed your job as construction worker.”
“That’s right. My cover is as a construction worker doing a job for Bart Bellows.”
Dr. Kendall’s eyebrows shot up.
“In fact, my assignment for tomorrow could be a matter of national security.”
“National—?” Dr. Kendall laughed.
Matt pulled a card out of his wallet and showed it to the doctor. “This is Bart Bellows’s personal card. You’re welcome to call his home number and verify this.”
