Heart of the Hawk

by Sandra Marton

  HEART OF THE HAWK

  Sandra Marton

  He wasn't called The Hawk for nothing

  Rachel saw David Griffin as a ruthless predator who swooped down on the defenseless and carried them off. Now he'd come to claim Jamie, his infant son and Rachel's ward. Even Rachel's love for her deceased stepsister's baby was powerless against him.

  Rachel accepted the job he offered as nursemaid at his home in the Catskills--it was the only way to stay with Jamie. But it also meant she'd be easy prey to The Hawk's overwhelming sensuality.

  And then she wondered, to her horror, if she'd be a willing victim ....

  For my father, who taught me to love the Catskills

  PROLOGUE

  AN UNNATURAL silence lay on the wind-ruffled ridge. Seconds before, the air of the meadow below had been thick with bird calls; now, there was only the droning buzz of insects. A black stallion, reins dragging from his bridle, grazed quietly among a profusion of wild-flowers. A quick smile softened the lips of the tall, broad-shouldered man standing nearby.

  'You've frightened all the birds away, Isis,' he said softly, raising his right arm to shoulder height. 'They know we're here.' His left hand rose and his fingers touched the pale grey breast of the hawk perched on his leather-gloved fist. The hawk tossed her hooded head, her taloned feet shifting impatiently. 'Patience,' he whispered, 'patience. I promised you a flight today, didn't I?' He bent his head towards the bird and his teeth flashed whitely as he bit at the laces that closed the elaborate hood. 'There,' he said finally, pocketing the hood. 'The sky is yours, Isis.' His arm rose rapidly. With a flap of her powerful wings, the hawk rose into the air, circling steadily upward, her leather jesses trailing after her, their tiny bells the only sound to break the stillness.

  The man lifted his gloved hand to his eyes,, shielding them from the sun, watching until the hawk; was only a dark speck against the cloudless sky. Gradually, the sounds of life returned to the hillside and he smiled again, the smile changing to a frown as the cough of an engine intruded. He watched, expressionless, as a jeep pulled up the hill and a heavy-set man and an attractive blonde woman got out.

  'Well?' he demanded as they approached. 'Have you seen the blood tests?'

  The woman waved a bee away and nodded. 'Yes, just this morning. Mr Hamilton's done quite a job for us, David. He's a good detective. I thought you might like to meet him.'

  The tall man's eyes fixed on the private investigator. 'The blood tests,' he said softly. 'What do they show?'

  Hamilton dabbed his face with a handkerchief. 'Jeez, it's hot as hell, isn't it? Nice to meet you, Mr Griffin. I...' His eyes met those of David Griffin and he cleared his throat. 'This was one hell of a tough job,' he said. 'That damned doctor gave me a hard time. We'd agreed on a price and at the last minute he decided to give me a speech on medical ethics. Too late, doc, I told him, you should have thought of that before you agreed to take the money and the kid's blood. You should have...'

  David Griffin's eyes darkened. 'Spare me the details, please. What do the tests prove? Is the boy my son or isn't he?'

  The private investigator shrugged. 'The blood type's right. And the genetic match-up is damned near perfect.'

  David nodded and turned to the woman. 'That's it, then. I'm going to get him tomorrow.'

  'David...' The woman, a careful smile on her face, stepped forward. 'Are you sure you want to do this? The repercussions could be horrendous. To suddenly produce a son...'

  'The boy is a year old, Vanessa. That's hardly "sudden".'

  'You know what I mean, David. You can't just drop this kind of news on the world. There'll be gossip...'

  He dismissed her protests with a shrug. 'We've been through all this before. The boy is my responsibility now. His mother's dead and he has no one.'

  'He has his aunt, David. She's taking care of him.'

  'Oh, that's very reassuring,' he said, hi§ voice heavy with sarcasm. 'When does she take care of him, Vanessa? The report said she spends her nights in a bar and her days sleeping. Isn't that right, Mr Hamilton?'

  The detective nodded eagerly. 'Yeah, right. She...'

  David Griffin snorted. 'That's a hell of a way to raise my son, isn't it?'

  Vanessa Walters took a deep breath and moved closer to him. 'Look,' she said softly, 'I'm not telling you to turn your back on the child. You think he's yours, OK, but...'

  'He is mine,' the man said coldly, lifting his face to the sky again. 'The tests prove it.'

  'Yes, but... David, you have an image to consider. What will people think?'

  His expression softened as the dark speck came into view again. 'Whatever you want them to think,' he said, watching as the hawk circled overhead. 'That's what I pay you for, remember? Figure something out.'

  'It isn't that easy, David. The media will eat this stuff up. David Griffin, admitting he's got a year-old son...' She smiled hesitantly and touched his arm. 'We could send the woman money for the child's care.'

  His eyes narrowed. 'I'm not asking you for advice, Vanessa.'

  'But you pay me to give it,' she answered quickly. 'I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't tell you how this is going to affect you, especially after all this time. Maybe if you'd acknowledged parentage sooner...'

  He waved his hand impatiently. 'Stand back,' he ordered. 'Isis is coming down.' He raised his arm and the others moved away hurriedly as the dark shape hurtled from the sky and settled on his gloved fist in a flurry of feathers, its powerful yellow talons gripping the heavy leather gauntlet. The hawk's golden eyes burned fiercely as she raised her powerful wings and balanced herself with one final muscular beat. 'Easy, girl,' murmured David as he gave her a piece of raw steak. He slipped the leather hood over the hawk's head and Vanessa laughed nervously.

  'That creature makes a wreck of me,' she said.

  'Ditto,' the detective added with a shudder.

  David moved towards the black stallion grazing among the flowers on the hillside. 'I've told you before, there's nothing to be afraid of. Isis is no different from any other predator. She only does what she has to do to survive.' He gathered the stallion's reins in one hand and mounted carefully. 'About the boy,' he said, and the man and the woman stared up at him. 'My mind's made up. He isn't going to grow up without a parent. And he isn't going to be raised by a woman who performs in a bar.'

  'She's a waitress, Mr Griffin,' the detective corrected.

  'I don't give a damn what she is,' David said sharply, while the stallion snorted and danced nervously beneath him. 'His mother's dead and he has a father. And, as of tomorrow, he's going to know it.' He tapped his heels against the horse's black flanks. 'I'll see you at the office later, Vanessa,' he called, as the horse broke into a canter.

  The detective sighed and dug his hands into his pockets. 'Well,' he said, 'I'll—er—I'll send you my bill. It's a little steep, but...'

  The woman tossed her head impatiently. 'I'll write you a cheque when we get back to the city. I just can't believe he's going to do this. It's so stupid!'

  The man shrugged. 'Yeah, well, some people get carried away by emotion. I mean, you wouldn't think a man as tough as David Griffin would admit he's got a bastard son.' The woman looked at him sharply and he flushed. 'Hell,' he said quickly, 'what's so strange about his being as human as the next guy, right? After all, just because the papers call him the Hawk...' His flush deepened, but a broad smile suddenly .appeared on her face.

  'You've done a wonderful job, Mr Hamilton,' she said briskly. 'Outstanding.'

  A slow grin stretched across his features. 'I have?'

  Vanessa Walters nodded. 'There'll be a bonus in your cheque,' she said, striding towards the jeep, 'a fat bonus for work well done.'

  Hamilton's grin wide
ned. 'Thanks. I told you, Miss Walters, when I do a job, I do it right.'

  Laughter trilled in her throat. 'Indeed you do, Mr Hamilton. Indeed you do!'

  CHAPTER ONE

  RACHEL COOPER blew a lock of dark hair from her face and shifted the bag of groceries in her arms. She grunted as her elbow banged against the doorframe.

  'Damn,' she whispered, trying unsuccessfully to balance the bag against her out-thrust hip. A box of disposable nappies was tucked under her other arm and her key, of course, was safely—and impossibly—tucked inside her shoulderbag. Shifting position on the narrow landing outside her apartment, Rachel hoisted the grocery bag higher and aimed her elbow in the general vicinity of the doorbell. It took several efforts, but at last she heard the faint peal of the bell ringing inside the apartment. 'Come on, Mrs Gould, come on,' she muttered. 'Open the darned door..

  The nappy box slipped from beneath her arm just as the door creaked open. Mrs Gould, her white hair in disarray and her face flushed, peered at Rachel.

  'Rachel? I thought I heard someone at the door. Here, let me help you with that,' she said, grabbing at the grocery bag. 'You stopped at the all-night market on your way home, I see. Good. We're out of milk... Were you out here long? I must have turned my hearing aid down.'

  Rachel smiled through her teeth as she followed after the woman. 'I wish you wouldn't turn it down, Mrs Gould,' she said, lowering her packages to a table in the cramped living-room. 'You won't be able to hear the baby if he cries.'

  Mrs Gould's smile faltered. 'I'd never ignore Jamie, Rachel—you know that. I just didn't want to hear the radio from the apartment downstairs. Such awful music! What is this world coming to, I wonder? Don't those young men have jobs? They've been carrying on all night long. Such comings and goings. I was talking to Mrs Greeley this evening and she said...'

  Rachel smiled and nodded her head in the pauses of the litany that she assumed were for her response as she took the cold things out of the grocery bag and put them in the refrigerator. Did the old woman spend all her time peering out of the window or gossiping on the phone? It was a question Rachel had wrestled with before. She tried to tell herself it didn't matter; Jamie didn't need much care at night. Rachel put him to bed at six and he was sound asleep by the time Mrs Gould showed up at eight, but it was hard not to wonder what would happen if he became ill or had a nightmare. Don't think that way, Rachel told herself, slamming the refrigerator door shut. Mrs Gould loved the baby. And she charged a reasonable amount for her services. An agency would have provided someone more reliable, but even with the most stringent budgeting, her income couldn't stretch to cover the fee. She sighed and dug into her purse.

  'Yes, well, thank you again, Mrs Gould,' she said, turning towards the old woman. 'Let me pay you for this week before you go.'

  'You can stop by my apartment later, Rachel,' said Mrs Gould, wrapping a scarf around her shoulders. 'I won't be going until late tomorrow.'

  Rachel's brow furrowed. 'Going? Tomorrow? Going where?'

  Her neighbour caught her lower lip between her teeth. 'Didn't I tell you? I'm so forgetful lately... My son asked me to stay with him and his wife. She's due any time now, and they've decided against a baby nurse. Why should they go to all that expense when I'm available, I said, and they agreed. I'll call and let you know when I'm coming back.'

  Panic sharpened Rachel's voice. 'Yes, but what about Jamie? Who'll take care of him? I won't be able to get anyone in time for tomorrow..

  The old woman shook her head. 'I thought I'd told you, dear—I am sorry. You might ask Mrs Greeley, I suppose... No, she's going to the theatre with her niece. The couple down the hall have a baby-sitter. She's just a child herself, but...'

  Rachel nodded wearily. 'I'll work something out. Wish your son and daughter-in-law well for me. And come back as soon as you can.'

  Mrs Gould smiled as she opened the front door. 'Of course, Rachel. And you give that boy of yours a hug for me, hmm? Tell him not to forget me while I'm gone.'

  Rachel nodded again as she closed the door and leaned her tired body against it. Sometimes she was convinced the only person Jamie was likely to forget was herself. Not that he didn't see her a lot; after all, she was the one who lifted him from his crib each morning, just as she was the one who bathed him and played with him and fed him all day. But it was getting more and more difficult to keep up the pace.

  She shrugged free of her coat and kicked off her high-heeled gold sandals. Lord, but they were agony to wear! It was hard enough to have to be on your feet all night, trotting back and forth from the bar to the tables at the Golden Rooster, but to have to do it while wearing four-inch heels was horrible. Usually she changed to sneakers and a sweat-suit after work, but not tonight. There had been a man at one of the tables, a man whose fierce eyes had been on her half the night. He hadn't said anything to her—he'd been someone else's customer—but somehow, the thought of leaving the club alone had made her uneasy, and so she had simply thrown her coat over her costume when one of the other girls offered her a lift home. She winced at she hobbled down the hall towards her bedroom.

  'The shoes are killers, I know, but that's what they like, kid,' one of the other cocktail waitresses had told her the first night she'd worked in the Rooster. 'That and these god-awful little skirts that barely cover your rear. Flash 'em enough and you'll double your tips. That's worth it, isn't it?'

  Yes, Rachel had thought with a sigh as she counted her tips the end of that first night, yes, it surely was. At this rate, she'd double what she'd been earning as a secretary. And that was all that mattered. Cassie's death had meant more than an emotional wrench; it had meant a loss of income, a big loss. Cassie's modelling fees had been substantial. And raising a child was expensive, especially when you had to pay for someone to care for him...

  A smile lit Rachel's face as she entered the bedroom. Jamie lay sprawled in his crib, his little rump raised in the air. She pulled the blanket over him and touched his dark golden curls lightly with her fingers. He was worth everything, she thought, cupping her hand around his head. Tired feet, embarrassing costume, even the customers who thought she was fair game for crude proposals and jokes—her Jamie was worth all that and more. And he was hers; it might have been her stepsister who had carried him and delivered him, but it was Rachel who had walked endless miles at night when the baby had colic, Rachel who had rubbed his sore gums when he cut his first tooth, Rachel who had soothed him and rocked him and loved him...

  She jumped at the sound of the doorbell. It was three in the morning. Who could that be? Mrs Gould, with a change of heart about her money? Yes, of course, that would be it. The old woman was growing more and more forgetful lately. She'd probably got all the way up to her apartment and then wondered why Rachel hadn't paid her. Rachel sighed and tiptoed out of the bedroom, quietly closing the door behind her. It was time to do something about replacing Mrs Gould permanently. There had to be a way to get her hands on some, extra money. Maybe she could work her days off at the Golden Rooster. Or maybe she could dredge out her old typewriter and do home typing during the day. There were lots of colleges in the New York area; there had to be students who wanted term papers typed or notes transcribed and never mind when she'd find time to do it. She'd make time. She'd...

  'Mrs Gould,' she said, as she opened the door. 'I'm glad you came back. I...' The words caught in her throat. There was a man standing in the doorway, the same man who had been watching her all evening. Instinctively, she slammed her hand against the door, but he shouldered it open. 'What do you want? Get away from me!'

  'Are you alone, Miss Cooper?'

  'Yes,' she said stupidly, then shook her head. 'I mean, no—no, I'm not alone.' Everything she'd ever heard or read about New York flooded into her mind. Jamie, she thought desperately, Jamie... She had to keep him safe. 'Get out of my apartment,' she said, trying to force the door closed. 'I'll scream!'

  His smile was thin. 'You'll scream? In a New York City apartment building at t
his hour of the night? All you'll succeed in doing is waking Jamie, Miss Cooper. And I don't think I'll allow that.'

  'Jamie? What do you know about Jamie?'

  'Enough to want to continue this conversation inside,' he said.

  Rachel looked up into his face. His gold-flecked eyes were fathomless beneath dark brows. Hair that was sun-streaked brown fell over his forehead. He ran his fingers through it and drew it away from his face. And he was big—God, she thought, repressing a shudder, he was huge! Not in height, perhaps, although he was over six feet, but his shoulders were broad. They seemed to fill the doorway. And he had a scar running alongside his mouth. It was faint and small, but it lent him a sinister air that didn't seem to go with his expensively tailored suit. Rachel took a deep breath.

  'I'm going to take my chances on screaming,' she said gently. 'You have three seconds to get out of here.'

  'Miss Cooper...'

  'One one-thousand,' she said.

  'Miss Cooper, listen...'

  'Two one-thousand, three one-thou...'

  'My name is David Griffin, Miss Cooper,' he said brusquely. 'Jamie is my son.'

  Rachel felt her legs begin to buckle under her. No, she thought, he couldn't be... But of course he was; she recognised him as soon as he told her his name. Cassie had kept newspaper clippings of him taped to her dressing-table mirror until she'd had the baby, until he had refused to admit he'd fathered her child, until...

  'You were at the Golden Rooster tonight,' she whispered.

  He nodded. 'I was indeed.'

  'Get out!' she snapped. 'You're not welcome here, Mr Griffin. Neither Jamie nor I want to see you:'

  He laughed as he brushed past her into the living-room. 'Jamie's a little young to make decisions like that. And I don't give a damn what you want.' He turned and his golden eyes looked past her. 'Your neighbours seem interested, though,' he said politely. 'Good evening.'

  Rachel spun around and stared into the hallway at the sleep-befuddled face staring at her from the opposite apartment. Quickly she slammed the door and leaned against it. David Griffin was standing in the centre of the room, smiling coolly at her.