by Jo Leigh
“Don’t worry about it,” she said softly. “Let’s just take it one step at a time. First, the hotel. Then maybe something to eat and a rest. We can plan our moves later.”
“Not too much later. We’ve got three hospitals to see.”
“Maybe we don’t have to go to all three,” she said. “I’m sure Richie will help any way he can.”
He pulled off the 101 freeway at Wilshire and slowed down to accommodate the downtown traffic. It was two-thirty, and it felt as if every street was crammed with drivers. Bad ones.
“I haven’t been to L.A. in a long time,” she said.
“You went to school here, right?”
She nodded. “UCLA. But I didn’t come downtown often.”
“Did you live in Westwood?”
“Most of the time I lived at the dorms. Then, when I did my residency, I shared a house in Santa Monica with four others.”
“That must have been a dream.”
“It wasn’t so bad. We hardly saw each other, and I had a private room. It was an attic really, but it was all mine. When I wasn’t studying, I was sleeping, and I didn’t do much of that.”
“Don’t I remember.”
“What about you?”
“I went to Harvard. I had an apartment for most of my residency.”
“Alone?”
“Nope. But I only shared it with one person.”
“How nice.”
“Scholarships. And my father’s good planning. Didn’t your folks help?”
“Not really,” Rachel said. “I got a scholarship, too, but it wasn’t enough to cover my living expenses. And my dad was in the military. He wasn’t exactly rolling in it. They did what they could.”
“Where are they now?”
“Living in Mississippi. Biloxi. They’re retired, playing a lot of bingo.”
“You don’t sound close.”
“We’re not. We were never an Ozzie and Harriet-type family.”
“Brothers, sisters?” Guy asked.
“Nope, just me.”
“And a lot of moving?”
“We didn’t stay in one place too long. Although I was lucky—I got through most of high school in California. Los Alamitos, actually.”
“Nice area.”
“Near the base. But yeah, it was.”
He saw the hotel blocks away. The three round glass towers were the most recognizable of the cityscape. When he reached Figueroa, he turned into the underground parking lot of the Bonaventure. It took them a few minutes to find the bellman, but soon they were following their luggage to the opulent front desk, their footsteps swallowed by the thick carpet and the sound of water from the atrium. Guy took care of both rooms, making sure they had a connecting door.
The bellhop took them up to the tenth floor, and to Rachel’s room first. It was nice and roomy, with a great view of the mountains. There were two queen beds with white cotton spreads, a writing desk and ergonomic chair, and a large bathroom.
She reached for her wallet to tip the young man, but Guy beat her to it. “This is my party,” he said.
“I can take care of my expenses.”
“I know. But you won’t. Now get yourself settled. What do you say I come by in an hour? We’ll grab something to eat then.”
“Great. Do you want me to call Richie?”
“I’ll take care of it, thanks.” He looked at her, standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, her face in shadow but her concern for him palpable. He didn’t want to leave, not now, not tonight, but a deal was a deal, and he wasn’t about to rock the boat, not when she was giving so much.
So with a parting smile, he followed the bellman to the room next door. His room was almost identical to Rachel’s except he had one king bed. It didn’t take him long to get unpacked, since he hadn’t brought that much with him. He walked to their connecting doors and undid the lock, but decided not to knock. She might be sleeping, and he didn’t want to interrupt. Knowing she was so close made it difficult, though. Just being with her soothed him inexplicably. He pulled out his cell phone, called Richie, and left a voice mail.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Guy took in the view out the window. Buildings towered over the city, and momentarily he missed Courage Bay. Weariness swamped him, making his shoulders sag and his head loll to his chest. Even slipping off his shoes seemed too much.
So he didn’t. He just lay back and closed his eyes.
“GUY?”
He turned, smiling at the soft silk of her voice. How incredible that she was here, naked and so willing. That her lips were so soft and pink and lush—
“Guy, wake up.”
He blinked, the light painful and intrusive. He didn’t know where he was except that Rachel was there, and she wasn’t naked.
“Guy, it’s late. If we want to get to the hospital, we’d better get moving.”
He was wide awake now, and shocked that Rachel really was in his room, the dream still lingering too vividly.
“I knocked. You didn’t answer, so I let myself in,” she said, pointing at their connecting doors. “Your phone wasn’t working, so you have to call the front desk. Evidently, someone put a block order on it, and only you can get it taken off.”
“A block order?”
“I’m guessing it was the last guest. Anyway, I was hungry, and I figured you would be, too, so I, uh…” She pointed to a room-service cart with several domed dishes just this side of the desk.
“Great. Thank you. Give me a minute to wash up.”
She walked over to the small dining table while he went into the roomy bath. The wash helped. So did getting fresh clothes from the closet and changing. He checked himself in the mirror, satisfied that his sport coat, blue silk shirt and slacks would look official enough to get the hospital personnel to cooperate.
In the bedroom, Rachel had already started eating. She blushed prettily, and he was so attracted to her at that moment that he nearly made a fool of himself.
Instead he sat down across from her, grateful for the napkin on his lap, and looked at the assortment of goodies she’d had brought in. There was shrimp cocktail, a crab Louie, a BLT, and a heaping plate of fries, along with a pot of coffee and two cups. “Perfect,” he said, taking a large shrimp.
“What about Richie?”
“I left a message.” He excused himself and called the front desk. They lifted the phone ban, and sure enough there was a message from Montgomery. Guy got his cell phone and called the lieutenant back. After filling his friend in, Guy decided to go to the most likely hospital, Los Angeles General, where two of the children with Noonan’s had been registered. Richie would follow through with the others, getting any information about Stan he could.
The thought of action improved his spirits and he rejoined Rachel at the small table.
“I heard most of that,” she said. “Is the hospital far?”
“No, actually, it’s just a few miles.” He checked his watch, surprised that it was almost six. He’d slept far longer than he’d intended. “We’ll have to battle traffic, but I’d like to get there before the shift change.”
“Great.” She finished one half of the sandwich while he concentrated on the other. They didn’t speak, but the silence was comfortable. He used the time to watch her. She’d changed into dark slacks and a pale green blouse, the soft material caressing her breasts, giving him a hint of what lay beneath. Again, he remembered her nightie, and he wondered if she’d brought it with her.
“I was surprised about Walter,” she said, breaking into his less-than-noble thoughts.
“Why?”
“Tammy seems like she’d go for someone a little more dashing.”
“I imagine Walter had his dashing days. He’s met with a lot of failure. That’ll take the dash out of any man.”
The corners of her lips turned down. “I know.”
“Thinking of someone in particular?”
“Yes, actually. I’m reminded of my father.”
; “He was in the military?”
“He signed up at seventeen. Spent his whole life following orders, but he never really went anywhere. He was a perfect soldier, but was never promoted. He made it to captain. Over the years, it beat him down. He’d never been a happy man, but he became…seriously depressed.”
“That must have been hard for you.”
“Not as hard as it was on my mother. She’s much older than her years now. She hides in her bingo and her vodka.”
“Was your father another reason you went into medicine?”
“No. He wanted me to be a man when I grew up.”
Guy laughed, although he could see it was no joke. “You blew it. Big time.”
Rachel smiled as she lowered her lashes. She was so very much a woman that Guy could barely think of anything else. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, not while he finished eating, not through his second cup of coffee.
She was the one who stood first, and when she did, her blouse tightened across her chest. What had been a hint before came out in stunning relief. Her nipples, hard and jutting, were clearly defined.
Guy was at her side before he could stop himself, and she was in his arms. His gaze met hers, asking silent permission. When her lips parted, when her skin glowed with a rosy flush, when he felt her chest rise and fall against his, he bent down and captured her mouth in a kiss that had beckoned since morning.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
RACHEL TENSED as Guy wrapped his arms around her, his big hands flat on her back, pulling her close against him. She remembered his taste, his scent, and the tension slipped away.
When she parted her lips, he took advantage, his tongue exploring tenderly. The taste of him was stronger now, intoxicating. With a little shock she realized her hand had found the back of his head, and her fingers gripped his soft, dark hair.
He turned, breaking the kiss long enough for her to take in a deep breath of air, to grasp exactly what she was doing. They were in his hotel room, the bed a few feet away, his body pressed against hers so she could feel the hardness of his chest, the edge of his belt buckle, the thickness of his erection against her hip.
At the moment of revelation there were no lightning bolts, except perhaps the one inside her, the one that flashed when she thrust her hips closer, brought her hand to his shoulder to keep him right there.
He moaned as he ran his hands down the length of her back, as his tongue teased and explored, and she thought for a moment of Allie, of how proud she’d be that Rachel hadn’t run for the hills.
God, it had been so long, too long, since she’d been touched like this. That hint of a kiss in his office had set off some kind of change in her, etched away at the numbness she’d felt for so long. And now it was as if she’d been awakened in all her private places. His touch, his kiss, the awareness of his hard body…
He pulled back, his eyes dilated and hungry, his lips still moist from where she’d licked him. “Oh, Christ.”
She nodded.
“I hate this, but we have to—”
“I know—the time.”
“The time.”
Rachel stepped back, her face as heated as the rest of her. One part of her was amused by her own embarrassment, while the other part felt triumphant. She’d kissed him, and she’d only freaked a tiny bit. Not enough for him to notice. Not enough to spoil the deliciousness of it all. “I’ll go get my coat and purse.”
“Great,” he said, his chest still rising and falling too quickly. “I’ll put the dishes outside.”
She headed for her room, stopping in the bathroom to fix her hair and lipstick. She decided to put on her fire-engine red, her work lipstick, but when they finished with their business tonight, she’d take it off. Maybe that wouldn’t be the only thing she took off.
Grabbing her coat from the hanger, she slipped it on slowly. Guy was still her boss. So why wasn’t that thought so troublesome anymore?
THE FAMILIAR SMELL of the hospital calmed Guy as he escorted Rachel to the administration office. There they would meet Estelle Potter, who, Montgomery had assured him, had already pulled the files they would need.
The offices they passed reminded Guy of the Courage Bay administrative suite, although these weren’t as nicely decorated.
Ms. Potter sat behind a neat metal desk, dotted with pictures of what he assumed were her grandchildren. She reminded him a bit of his aunt Dianna, white hair cropped short and stylishly, her dress a pale blue, her smile welcoming.
“Please, sit down, Doctors,” she said. “Lieutenant Montgomery told me what you were looking for, and I hope I can help.” She reached behind to a long credenza and picked up three manila files, then handed them to Guy. “These three infants had Noonan’s. All of them were born within the last five years. Unfortunately, none of them survived. It was a tragedy, really. There was no prenatal care at all, and two of the mothers were addicts.”
Guy looked at Rachel, his stomach constricting at the tragic outcomes in the files. The M.O. sounded very familiar, and at least that gave him some hope of finding the man behind all this.
He handed one of the files to Rachel and opened the top one on the desk.
“Can I get you some coffee?” Ms. Potter said. “It’s not bad.”
“We’d love some, thank you,” Rachel said. “I like mine with cream and sugar, Guy prefers his black.”
“I’ll be right back,” Ms. Potter said. “You take your time.”
Guy didn’t even hear her leave, he was so busy reading the file. The first thing he looked at was the birth parents. The father’s name was Stan Olivetti. Stan. There was an address in Hollywood, but it was from well over four years ago. Regardless, he pulled his notebook out of his breast pocket and jotted down the name and address. Then he read the medical report.
The child was born to a crack-addicted mother. He’d had severe Noonan’s and had, of course, been born addicted. He’d lived for eighteen hours, all of them spent in the NICU. The mother had disappeared a day after giving birth. There had been no follow-up care.
“The father here is Stan Taylor,” Rachel said, her voice low, as if they were in a library.
“What address?”
“Tarzana.”
Guy swore. He was hoping there would be one area to comb, but Tarzana was in the San Fernando Valley, thirty miles away. He handed her the pad. “Could you note it, please?”
She nodded, absently taking the pen and pad, her gaze still on the file. “The infant was born addicted,” she said. “Which isn’t true about Heath.”
“But the rest is.”
She sighed. “Yes. Except that Heath isn’t as severely compromised as this child.”
Guy thanked God for that, then opened the second file. “Stan Taylor again,” he said. And this time the address was back in Hollywood. It wasn’t the same location as the first file, but it was closer than the Valley.
“Here,” Rachel said, handing him back his pad.
He jotted down the address, marveling at her clear handwriting above his. “How did you get to be a doctor?” he asked.
She looked at him quizzically.
“I can read your writing.”
Her smile made everything better. His mind went right back to his hotel room, to the feel of her in his arms. She was so warm and lush, it had taken all his strength to pull away from her.
Ms. Potter walked back into the room holding two mugs. She put them on the desk, then walked around to her seat. “Anything?”
Guy nodded. “Yes. We think all these children had the same father, using assumed names.”
“We can’t do much about that,” she said. “We don’t ask for identification unless there’s insurance involved.”
“Of course not,” Rachel said. “But at least we have two addresses in the same area. That’s something.”
“Maybe the lieutenant will find out more,” Ms. Potter said. “I wish I could have been more helpful. So tell me, you’re from Courage Bay? I knew a nurse that moved up th
ere about two years ago. Her name was Carol Stone.”
Rachel smiled, and as Guy reread the files on the desk, the women talked about their mutual acquaintance. Thankfully, they didn’t ask him to participate. What he wanted was to get out of here and check out the Hollywood addresses.
When he closed the last file, Rachel put down her coffee mug and stood up. Reaching across the table, she shook hands with the administrator. Guy did the same, thanking her for letting them keep the files; they were duplicates.
It wasn’t until eight-fifteen that they got to the first Hollywood address. It was on Argyle, and the neighborhood was just what Guy expected it to be. Dingy apartments, drug dealers and hookers on the corner by the public phone. The address Stan had written down turned out to be a liquor store, single story. A complete dead end. They didn’t have a photo of Stan, or even a vague description, but Guy couldn’t just give up.
He also couldn’t leave Rachel in the car, so they went inside the liquor store. The man behind the crowded counter could have used a bath. He also needed to peel his eyes off Rachel before Guy lunged over the cash register.
“Do you know a man named Stan?” Rachel asked, her back straight, her voice like steel.
“Just Stan?” the clerk asked, showing yellowed teeth. “Oh, yeah, he was just here. Bought some candy.”
“Enough, smart-ass,” Guy said, pulling out his wallet. He peeled off a twenty and threw it on the counter. “His name is Stan, and he has a habit of getting young women pregnant.”
The clerk grabbed the twenty as if it was spring-loaded. Then he smiled again, at Rachel. “I know a lot of pregnant chicks.”
Guy took a step forward, but stopped when he felt Rachel’s hand on his arm.
“Let’s go,” she said softly.
He wanted more from the idiot behind the counter, but Guy could see it was futile. He let Rachel lead him back out to the cool night air and the car. Just in time. The crowd around the phone had taken notice of his SUV.
