The Rookie

by Julie Miller

  She was strong enough to raise her gaze to his, stubborn enough to want him to see her point. “Twenty years down the road, when I’m pushing sixty, you’ll still be a man in your prime. You’re gorgeous, Josh. And you’re funny and brave. Women are going to want you.”

  “But you won’t?”

  “Josh—”

  “I’m not your ex-husband. I’m not Simon Livesay. You can’t judge me by his standard.”

  “It’s the only standard I know.” She pulled away, hugging her belly, protecting herself and her little girl from the hurt she expected to find one day.

  “You work at a university, Doc.” His own brand of hurt—that rejection, that not measuring up to someone’s standard—turned into sarcasm in his voice. “Maybe it’s time for you to learn something new.”

  But the clock was ticking. The Washburn Clinic and the answers to this case were waiting for him. He reached for Rachel’s hand, and despite her reluctant protest led her to the window.

  “I have to go. But this conversation isn’t finished, not by a long shot.”

  “Josh, I have to be honest about the way I feel.”

  “So do I.” He pulled the curtain aside and moved behind her. He hugged her waist, with one arm laying a possessive claim to the life in her womb. He nudged open the blinds. “See that green pickup truck down there?” She looked out the window and nodded. “That’s one of Lieutenant Cutler’s men, my superior in the drug division. He’ll keep an eye on you while I’m gone. You’re to stay put and rest and think about how much I love you.”

  “Josh—”

  “I’m going to prove myself to you, Rachel. If it’s the last thing I do.” He put his other arm across her chest above the swell of her breasts, laying a possessive claim to the woman herself. He slipped his fingers up to her neck and turned her head to bury a kiss in the soft hair at her temple. “I want to marry you. I want your little girl to be my little girl.”

  He hugged her as tightly as he dared without crushing the baby. Then he turned her and kissed her swiftly on the mouth. “You stay put and stay safe.”

  He left her at the window and strode across to the front door. He pulled on his leather coat and zipped it closed to mask his gun. “I’m coming back to you, Doc. I will always come back to you.”

  He closed the door behind him and prayed she wanted him to return.

  I WANT TO MARRY YOU.

  Josh Taylor—young stud of the world, Sir Galahad with a wicked grin and ancient eyes—wanted to marry her.

  Rachel rubbed her stomach as she waited for the herbal tea to steep in its pot. “What are we going to do, little one?”

  Could she let go of the past and believe in the future? A long-term, forever kind of future with Josh?

  I’m going to prove myself to you, Rachel. If it’s the last thing I do.

  What more could a man do? He’d risked his life for her. He’d made beautiful love to her. He treated her child with tender care. He’d opened up his heart and spoken the truth that was inside.

  She was the one with something to prove.

  Rachel sank into one of the kitchen chairs, stunned and ashamed to realize that the only thing keeping her from happiness was her own fear. She was the one with the immature attitude about a relationship with Josh Taylor. She was the one who refused to see the wisdom of following her heart instead of her head.

  Anne-Marie thumped her right below the rib cage. “Ow.” Rachel massaged the tender area and smiled. “I know, sweetie. Mommy’s slow. But she can be taught.”

  She sat and enjoyed a moment with her daughter before her need to do something kicked in. She was a woman of action, after all, according to Josh. “So, what do we do to prove ourselves to Josh?”

  She hadn’t really expected an answer. But when the phone rang, she jumped, as if a higher power had suddenly responded. Smiling at the foolish notion and pressing a hand over her rapidly beating heart, she went into the living room and picked up the phone. “Dr. Livesay.”

  Her hopeful dreams were shattered in an instant.

  “Shame, shame, shame, Doctor.” The hoarse, muffled voice tightened its evil grip around her baby and her heart. “Didn’t you understand my message? I was with you at the hospital when you almost lost my baby.”

  “Who is this?” Anger at the unjust threat gave her strength. “Why are you doing this to me!”

  “You think you can keep playing with that boy toy of yours. With my baby between you. Well, that’s not going to happen anymore.”

  “Stop this!”

  “I know he’s a cop—”

  Rachel froze at the stark threat in his tone. The anger that had whipped through her became a fear that chilled her to the bone.

  “That’s right. I know.”

  “How?”

  “I was there when he told you. Remember?”

  With her at the hospital. Daddy had been with her at the hospital. Rachel squeezed her eyes shut and tried to replay every face she’d seen that day. But she’d been in so much pain. She’d been so afraid. She just couldn’t think. The details escaped her.

  “What do you want?”

  “Just what I’ve always wanted.” He gave a croaky laugh. “I want what’s mine.”

  Click.

  The silence at the end of the line pounded like drumbeats inside her head.

  She had to think. She had to do something.

  What was Josh’s number? She ran over to her bag and rummaged through the contents. Then she threw the whole mess down on the table. She didn’t have Josh’s number. She’d never needed it. He’d always been with her when she needed him.

  She opened the end-table drawer and pulled out the white Kansas City phone book. “Taylor, Taylor, Taylor.” She thumbed to the T section and her heart sank. There were hundreds of Taylors in the phone book. At least twenty Joshua’s or J’s.

  “This is ridiculous,” she chided herself. Just call the police.

  And not just any cop.

  She picked up Mac Taylor’s card and dialed the number. He picked up on the first ring. “Taylor here.”

  “Mac Taylor?” she asked, though she recognized his voice right away.

  “Speaking.”

  “This is Rachel Livesay. I just got another call from Daddy. I’m not sure what to do. But I think Josh is in trouble.”

  JOSH WAS RIGHT. Patience and waiting were not Rachel’s strong points. She’d put Anne-Marie to sleep with all her pacing.

  Mac Taylor’s visit had been brief. And despite all his reassurances that Josh had been given the information and that he was well-protected, she didn’t feel very reassured.

  She needed to do something.

  Maybe she should call Simon about her classes and discuss her counseling caseload. Dean Jeffers was sure to meet Simon’s price and hire him. Apparently he’d be taking over her position sooner than any of them had planned.

  The doctor wanted her to stay at home, but she hadn’t specifically said Rachel couldn’t work. She might not be able to help Josh as he and a group of fellow cops searched the Washburn Clinic, but she could help someone else. And maybe, in a way, ease some of Josh’s concerns about the world he fought so hard to make right.

  She got out her day-planner and her cell phone and sat on the couch to check on some of her clients. They needed her more than Simon ever had. She’d rather talk to them, anyway.

  “Hey, Lucy. How are you feeling today?”

  “A little better. I have an appointment with an obstetrician tomorrow to make sure I’m pregnant. I probably shouldn’t have told Kev until I knew for sure.” There was a heaviness in the girl’s voice that reflected the burden of guilt she carried. “I didn’t mean to set him off like that.”

  “It was the drugs that set him off, Lucy. You wait and tell him again once he gets out of rehab. And then I want you both to come work with me. Together.”

  “I’d like that.”

  They chatted a while longer before hanging up. Kevin Washburn wasn’t allowed t
o receive phone calls during his first week at the center, so she looked up the number for Kevin’s father.

  She was almost ready to hang up, when the phone picked up. Silence greeted her.

  “Dr. Washburn? Is this the Washburn residence?”

  “This is Andrew Washburn.” His once-booming voice sounded weak and tired.

  “Rachel Livesay,” she said. “I was calling to see how you’re holding up today.”

  “You tried to save my boy, didn’t you.”

  “I tried. I wish I could have done something more.”

  Andrew’s pause lasted an eternity. “So do I. I mean, I wish that I had done something more.”

  “Would you like to talk about it?” She had nothing but the time and heart to listen.

  “Yes.” The energy in his voice lifted from depressed to almost hopeful. “Yes, I’d like that very much. But not over the phone. Would you be able to come to the house?”

  “Right now?”

  Dusk was falling, transforming the glittering sparkle of a sunny winter’s day into the gloomy gray shadows of a moonless winter twilight.

  “Yes, if you can. The house is unlocked. Just knock and come in. I’ll be in my study.”

  What about the cop outside her condo?

  What about Josh’s stay put and stay safe?

  “Rachel? Please.” His voice took on the apologetic tone of a confession. “There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

  “About Kevin?”

  “About your baby.”

  “THIS BURNS MY ULCER to say this, but—” Lieutenant Cutler paused to show just how much it pained him “—good work, Taylor.” He almost smiled as he surveyed the orderly chaos of crime-scene technicians, uniformed police and plainclothes detectives bustling around them, taking pictures, cataloging and carting away everything from the Washburn Clinic’s main office that might be used as a scrap of evidence. “Imagine, a trashy little meth-lab hidden away inside a ritzy country club clinic where babies are made.”

  The lieutenant’s praise had been a long time coming, but Josh didn’t feel he deserved it. Yet. “Ethan Cross is rounding up warrants for all the students on the donor list. They may not all be runners in the meth ring, but he’ll bring them in, just in case.”

  A tall, lanky man wearing the distinctive navy blue uniform of the Kansas City Fire Department—and sporting the brown-eyed, dark-haired version of the Taylor features that made Josh a handsome man—walked up and slapped Josh on the shoulder. “The Haz-Mat unit has everything loaded up. It’s safe for your men to go back into the lab now.”

  “Thanks, Gid.”

  Lieutenant Cutler took the announcement and ran with it, barking orders and herding his men into the lab to work the scene in there.

  “They’re lucky the place didn’t blow up in their faces.” Gideon Taylor normally worked as an arson investigator. But when Mac had called to tell Josh his cover had been compromised by the so-called Daddy, his third eldest big brother had suddenly shown up to serve as the fire department’s liaison. Josh could well imagine that the rest of the Taylor clan had been mobilized in a similar fashion.

  Josh grinned down at his older brother, taking full advantage of the one inch of height he had over Gideon. He might be the youngest Taylor, but he was by no means the smallest. “You know, you don’t have to baby-sit me.”

  “I know.”

  His steady brown eyes looked so much like their father’s that Josh had often seen his relationship with Gideon in the same way. Eight years older than Josh, Gideon had always seemed grounded. Mature. In recent months, he’d also seemed a little sad. But Gideon wasn’t one for talking about stuff. Not until he was ready and wanted to.

  “Mostly I’m just checking in. We haven’t heard from you in a while. Ma didn’t believe for one minute that you were at a training session in Jeff City.”

  “Well, you can tell Ma this—I’m fine. I have been fine. I’m going to continue to be fine.”

  Gideon shook his head. “Anything more specific?”

  He hoped… “Tell her—” Maybe he was jinxing this by even thinking about it. “Tell her I met somebody. Tell her I want her to meet a pregnant friend of mine. You think she’d be cool with that?”

  “Did you have anything to do with the pregnant part?” Now that was the parental tone of voice he expected to hear from Gideon.

  “I wish. But no.”

  Gideon grinned. “Ma’s baby-radar is probably going off right now. She’d got a sixth sense about these things.”

  “It’s not a done deal yet.”

  His big brother smiled and gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. “I won’t say a word. You take care of what you need to. You know we’ll support you, no matter what.”

  “Thanks.”

  The brothers shook hands.

  Then Gideon thumbed over his shoulder. “I’ll be around. But I’m going to go double-check that everything’s cool on the truck before they take off.”

  Bursting with the possibilities for his future, Josh pulled out his cell phone and punched in Rachel’s number.

  They still had to bring in the bigwig of the campus meth ring. Maybe it was Andrew Washburn himself. Maybe that’s why he felt so guilty about his son’s addiction.

  The phone continued to ring.

  Of course, Cutler’s big plan was to push every kid they arrested for information. A team of specially trained cops would work the interrogation rooms, trying to get one or more of the kids to turn on their boss. To give the cops a name in exchange for a lighter charge or dismissal.

  That was the plan.

  He, too, was going to be one of those cops on the interrogation team. This had been his case from the get-go, and he had the most at stake in bringing in the leader.

  But he wanted to talk to Rachel first.

  Josh frowned. The imminent success of his first undercover mission, and expected promotion because of it, suddenly didn’t seem very important.

  Rachel’s phone rang and rang until the answering machine picked up.

  Why the hell didn’t she answer?

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Dr. Washburn?”

  Rachel pushed the door open and knocked one more time.

  “Dr. Washburn? It’s Rachel Livesay.”

  The entryway was black without its chandelier, but enough light streamed in from the porch light for her to see that the mess of broken glass and metal was still lying in its twisted heap in the middle of the foyer. Had Andrew Washburn been alone with all the filth and ruin left over from Kevin’s destructive frenzy yesterday? No wonder the poor man needed to talk. He needed to move beyond yesterday and start thinking about tomorrow.

  Steeling herself, she waved back at the officer who had driven her here and moved on inside. “Dr. Washburn? Andrew?”

  Using the outside light to guide her, she crept along the outer wall of the foyer and down the main hallway, trying not to cringe at the crunch of broken glass, and screech of metal against marble, beneath her feet. The house was too quiet, too creepy, too horrible a place for a grieving man to be alone.

  As she moved past the staircase, a second, brighter light caught her eye. Rachel smiled in relief. The study.

  Leaving the wall, she walked straight toward the light streaming through the open doorway. She paused in the ornate walnut doorjamb to blink and let her eyes adjust to the light.

  She saw the shock of snowy-white hair that readily identified Andrew Washburn, and smiled. “There you are. I was worried when you didn’t answer.” Rachel froze halfway to the desk. “Oh God.”

  And then she ran to the desk. Ran around to the man in the chair to make sure her eyes hadn’t played tricks on her.

  Her eyes filled with bitter tears, obscuring the scene before her: Andrew Washburn, leaning back in his chair, looking for all the world like he’d dozed off. But the bright-red blood draining from his mouth and staining the chair at the back of his head told her he was dead.

  She blinked
away the tears and tried to make sense of what she saw. A sixty-year-old man, grief-stricken and guilt-ridden over his son’s addiction to drugs. Wealthy and accomplished and yet absolutely helpless when it came to helping his own flesh and blood.

  The hand that lay in his lap held a revolver. And as she sniffed back tears, a burning scent stung her nose. Gunpowder? Had he just now shot himself?

  Rachel pressed two trembling fingers against his neck and then jerked them away as if she’d been singed. “You’re still warm.”

  She wiped her fingers on her coat, unable to dispel the sensation of death from them.

  Automatically, she looked about for the phone. Maybe she should be looking for a suicide note. Maybe she should just go notify the police officer parked in his truck outside waiting for her.

  Liking the idea of escaping from the grisly, sad scene better than any of her choices, she took a deep breath and started to leave. But she kicked something with her foot. Something that had fallen from Andrew Washburn’s other hand.

  A file from the Washburn Clinic.

  Knowing she shouldn’t touch anything before the police entered, she couldn’t help herself—she balanced herself against the desk and squatted down to get a better look.

  Shocked by what she read on the cover she lost her grip and balance, and fell back on her bottom. Not caring how gangly and awkward she looked as she crawled onto her hands and knees to right herself, she turned her focus back to the number she’d read on the folder.

  93579

  This was what Andrew wanted to talk to her about. He was going to reveal her baby’s father.

  Was the secret so hideous, so awful, that revealing the truth was worth taking his own life? Or had depression made that choice inevitable—and giving this information to her was his final good deed?

  Knowing she could debate his reasons ad infinitum, Rachel chose instead to thank him. Then she opened the folder.

  “No.”

  She glanced up at the dead man, wishing he could answer her questions. This didn’t make sense.