by Julie Miller
She called out again for some sign that the young woman she’d been searching the city for all day and night had somehow shown up here.
The vise clamped over her wrist again and pulled her back to the door. “Miss McKane.”
“Let go of me.” She yanked her arm free and charged toward the mess on the couch. “Diana?” She paused a moment to sift through the pile of unraveling yarn and interrupted projects before snatching up the overturned basket and inspecting the insides. Lucy always kept a twenty or two hidden beneath her work. The only other person who knew where she stockpiled for a rainy day was Diana. “She was here. She took the cash,” she whispered, her sense of dread growing exponentially.
“So it was a robbery?”
She startled at the deep voice beside her. “What? No. I would gladly give her the money.”
“Give who the money?”
“Diana?” Lucy tossed the basket onto the couch and took off for the light in the kitchen.
But she hadn’t taken two steps before Niall Watson’s arm cinched around her waist and pulled her back against his chest. “Miss McKane. There’s nothing for you to see here. I need you to come with me.”
She gasped at the unexpected contact with a muscled torso and the surprising warmth that seemed to surround her instantly and seep through the layers of coat and clothing she wore. “Nothing? I have to...” For a split second, her fingers tightened their grip around the arm at her waist, needing his strength. She’d had a bad feeling all day. Diana Kozlow hadn’t shown up for a long-overdue lunch and gab session. And then that phone call...
If the answer was here—even one she didn’t want to be true—Lucy had to see for herself. With a renewed sense of urgency, she pushed the doctor’s arm and body heat away and turned. “You need to stop grabbing me, Doctor. I appreciate your concern, but I have to—”
She shoved at his chest, but he released her waist only to seize her by the shoulders. He squeezed enough to give her a little shake and hunched his face down to hers. “Lucy. If you would please listen.”
Lucy? Her struggles stilled as she assessed the stern expression stamped on his chiseled features. When had her taciturn neighbor ever addressed her as anything but a polite Miss McKane? That couldn’t be good. The tight grip on her upper arms and the piercing intensity of those blue eyes looking straight at her weren’t any kind of reassurance, either. She curled her fingers into the wrinkled cotton of his shirt and nodded, preparing herself for the news she didn’t want to hear. “What’s wrong? What’s happened? Did you see a young woman here? Is she...” Lucy swallowed hard. “Is she okay?”
He eased his grip and straightened, raking one hand through his short muss of espresso-colored hair as he inhaled a deep breath. But he kept the other hand on her arm as if he suspected she might bolt again. “If you would come with me.” He pulled her back into the hallway and closed the door to her condo behind them. “I need to ask you some questions.”
Now he wanted to talk? After all those friendly overtures she’d made to her seriously hunky and completely-oblivious-to-a-lady-dropping-a-hint neighbor, tonight of all nights was when he wanted to have a private conversation with her? Somehow she doubted that he’d finally clued in on the crush she had on him. Preparing herself for a worst-case scenario, Lucy planted her feet before blithely following him into his condo. “Just tell me. Did you find a dead body in there? You told me you were a medical examiner during one of our elevator rides together when I first moved in. That’s when I told you I was a social worker—that I’ve seen some pretty awful things, too. But my bodies weren’t dead like yours. Just damaged in one way or another.” Her mouth was rambling ahead of her brain. “I’m sorry. But you can tell me. Is this a crime scene? Is that why I can’t go in there?” She touched the blood on his sleeve again. Although it was dry, its presence was disturbing. “Is this Diana’s? Don’t feel you have to spare my feelings. I’ve been sick out of my mind with worry all day. I just need a straight answer about what’s happened. I can deal with anything—I’m good at that—as long as I know what I’m facing.”
“You can deal with anything?” He angled his head to the side and his eyes narrowed, as if her plaintive assertion baffled him. Then he shook his head. “There is no dead body,” he answered starkly. “I don’t know who Diana is. This blood is my grandfather’s. He was shot yesterday afternoon at my sister’s wedding.”
“Shot? Oh, my God.” Lucy’s fingers danced over the ticklish hair of his forearm, wanting to act on her instinct to touch, to comfort, to fix the hurts of the world. “Is he okay? I mean, clearly he isn’t. Getting shot is really bad. I’m sorry. Is he going to be all right?” His brusque answers explained the remnants of the James Bond getup, as well as the stains on what had once been a neatly ironed shirt. But what any of that had to do with the break-in or her or possibly Diana, she hadn’t a clue. Lucy curled her fingers around the strap of her shoulder bag and retreated a step. “You don’t need to worry about my problems. You should be with your family.”
“Miss McKane.” They were back to that now, hmm? “I’m sorry if the blood upset you—I haven’t had time to change since coming home from the hospital.” He scraped his palm over the dark stubble dotting his chin and jaw before sliding his fingers over his hair and literally scratching his head. “I can see I haven’t explained myself very well. Your sympathy is appreciated but misplaced. My grandfather’s condition is serious, but please, before you go off on another tangent, would you come inside? I do have a problem that concerns you specifically.” He glanced toward the end of the hallway. “And I don’t think we should have that conversation here.”
She remembered the retired couple down the hall and nodded. “The Logans. I suppose it would be rude to wake them at this hour.”
A man with a wounded grandfather, a gun and a badge, and an inexplicable sense of urgency could take precedence for a few minutes over her suspicions and the futile desperation that might even be unfounded. Lucy hadn’t seen Diana Kozlow in months. Perhaps she’d read too much into the telephone message at the office this morning. She was probably chasing ghosts, thinking that Diana had really needed her. Roger Campbell hadn’t needed her for anything more than sex and a punching board. The only reason her own mother had needed her was to ensure her own meal ticket. How many times did she have to repeat that codependent mistake?
Inhaling a deep breath, Lucy pulled off her left glove and cap and stuffed them into her pockets, too, as Niall opened the door for her to precede him. “So what concerns me specifically besides a busted front door...” She tried to smooth her staticky curls behind her ears. “Oh, hello.”
At this late hour, she was surprised to see another man—a stockier version of Niall Watson, with a peppering of silver in his short dark hair—rising stiffly from a recliner as she stepped into the living room.
She extended her hand because she was that kind of friendly. “I’m Lucy McKane from across the hall. Sorry to visit so late, but Dr. Watson invited me...” The older man angled his body to face her, and she saw the blanket with tiny green and yellow animals draped over his arm. “You have a baby.”
“Can’t put anything past you,” the tall man teased in a hushed voice, in deference to the tiny infant sleeping contentedly against his chest. “Thomas Watson.” He easily cradled the child in one arm to shake her hand. “I raised three boys and a girl of my own, so I’ve had some practice. I’m Niall’s father.”
“I could tell by the family resemblance. Nice to meet you. You seem to be a natural.” Lucy stepped closer to tuck the loose blanket back around the tiny child’s head. The newborn’s scent was a heady mix of gentle soap and something slightly more medicinal. A tightly guarded longing stirred inside her, and she wanted to brush aside the wisp of dark brown hair that fell across the infant’s forehead. She wisely curled her fingers into her palm and smiled instead. “And this is...?”
Niall’s crisp voice sounded behind her. “I was hoping you could tell us.”
Lucy swiveled her head up to his as he moved in beside her. “I don’t understand. Isn’t the baby yours?” She glanced at Niall’s father. He was older, yes, but by her quick assessment, still a virile man. “My apologies. The baby is yours.”
“No, ma’am.”
The older man grinned, but Niall looked anything but amused when he reached across her to adjust the blanket she’d tidied a moment earlier. “I broke into your apartment, Miss McKane.”
“You? To steal twenty dollars? Why on earth would you do that?”
“I wasn’t the first intruder. I found a screwdriver that had apparently been used to break into your place.” He pulled a tiny gem from his pocket and held it up between his thumb and forefinger, twisting it until she could see the fracture in the clear red glass. “I believe this came off it.”
“A screwdriver?” Lucy clutched at her purse strap, the bittersweet joy of seeing the baby momentarily forgotten. Diana was in trouble. “A pink one with glitter on the handle?”
He picked up a bag marked with numbers and the scratch of his signature from the coffee table and folded the excess plastic out of the way so she could see the contents inside. “This one.”
“Oh, my God.” Lucy plucked the screwdriver from his open palm and turned it over in her hand. The room swayed at the instant recognition. Diana hadn’t wanted jewelry or dolls for birthdays and Christmas. She’d been a tomboy and tough-kid wannabe from their first meeting. Diana had wanted a basketball and running shoes and a toolbox, although she’d seemed pleased with the bling on this particular set. Lucy blinked away the tears that scratched at her eyes and tilted her face to Niall’s. “Where did you get this?”
“Is it yours?”
“Answer my question.”
“Answer mine.”
“Niall,” Thomas gently chided.
A deep, resolute sigh expanded Niall Watson’s chest before he propped his hands at his waist again in that vaguely superior stance that emphasized both his height and the width of his shoulders. If it wasn’t for his glasses and the spiky muss of his hair that desperately needed a comb, she might have suspected he had an ego to go with all that intellect. “Apparently, someone jimmied the locks on your door several hours before I got home, and I suspect they used that tool to do it. I let myself in when I heard this child crying in distress. I thought, perhaps, you weren’t being responsible—”
“With a child?” He thought...that she... Lucy didn’t know whether to cry or smack him. “I would never. My job is to protect children.”
“I know that.” Her burst of defensive anger eased as he continued his account.
“But then I suspected that you might be in some kind of distress yourself. I entered the premises to make sure you were all right.” He plucked the screwdriver from her fingers and returned it to the table along with the shattered bead and another bag that appeared to be holding the beginnings of the gray scarf she’d been knitting for a coworker. She could see now that the markings meant he’d labeled them all as evidence. “I found it on your kitchen counter beside the baby. I brought him here since there didn’t seem to be anyone else watching him. We’ve given him food, clean clothes and a bath. Other than a nasty case of diaper rash, he seems to be healthy.”
That explained the medicinal smell. “It’s a boy?” She turned back to the older man cradling the sleeping infant. “He was in my apartment? All alone?”
“I believe that’s what I’ve been saying.” Niall Watson could sound as irritated with her as he wanted. He’d saved this child, and for that, she would be forever grateful.
Lucy pressed her fingers to her mouth to hold back the tears that wanted to fall. Tears that wouldn’t do anyone any good. Diana’s cryptic phone message that had sent Lucy on a wild hunt all over Kansas City finally made sense. “That’s what she wanted to show me. I had no idea. The baby is what she wanted me to take care of. But why wouldn’t she stay, too?”
“What are you talking about, Miss McKane?”
“I have a favor to ask, Lucy. I don’t know who else to call. I need to show you something, and I need you to keep it safe.”
“Why didn’t she tell me?” Lucy whispered. She couldn’t help but reach out to stroke her finger across the infant’s cheek. His skin was as velvety soft as it looked, and she was instantly in love. “You precious little boy.”
“Do you know who is responsible for this child?” Niall asked.
“Possibly.” Lifting her gaze to Niall’s father, Lucy held out her hands. “May I?”
“Of course.”
Lucy sighed with a mixture of longing and regret as the baby’s sweet weight filled her arms and settled against her. “He’s so tiny. How old do you think he is?”
“I’d say a week. Two, tops,” Niall answered from behind her. “Obviously, pediatrics isn’t my area of expertise, but I know enough to handle the basics. I still think he needs to see a pediatric specialist to ensure a clean bill of health. Now what can you tell us about his parents?” Niall stepped aside as she circled the coffee table and sat on the edge of his sofa to hold the baby more securely. She heard a huff of what could be resignation a second before the cushion beside her sank with his weight. When she tumbled toward her tall neighbor at her shifting perch, his hands shot out to balance her shoulder and cradle her forearm that held the baby. “Easy. Don’t let go of him.”
“I couldn’t.”
Niall’s hand remained beneath her arm, making sure of her hold on the infant. His chest pressed against Lucy’s shoulder, and for a split second she was overcome by the normalcy of the family she’d never known and would never have. A mother, a father, a child they shared together. The yearning inside her was almost painful.
Blinking rapidly to dispel the impossible image of the brainy doctor cop and her creating a perfect little baby together, Lucy scooted away to break the contact between her and Niall Watson, although she could still feel that crazily addictive warmth he radiated. “What’s his name?” she asked, craving the information as much as she needed to put space between her and her errant fantasies.
“He didn’t come with an ID,” Niall answered. “He didn’t come with anything. Not even a fresh diaper. If you could answer at least some of my questions—”
“Son.” The older Watson chided the tone in Niall’s voice and offered her a smile. “I nicknamed him Tommy. But that’s just a family name I was using so we could call him something besides ‘little munchkin.’ We were hoping you’d be able to fill in the blanks for us. But I take it you’re not the mother.”
His green eyes were kind, but Lucy still felt the sting of truth. “No. I... I can’t have children of my own.”
“I’m sorry. You seem like a natural with Tommy, too.”
His kind words enabled her to smile back. “Thank you.” But a glance up to the man seated beside her indicated that answers were the only thing that was going to soften that empirical focus zeroed in on her. He was this baby’s champion, and nothing short of the entire truth was going to satisfy him. “I think... Tommy...” She stroked her fingertip over his tiny lips, and they instinctively moved to latch on, even though he was asleep. “I have no idea who the father is. But I think he belongs to my foster daughter, Diana Kozlow.”
Niall’s posture relaxed a fraction, although that stern focus remained. “The woman whose name you kept calling out.”
Lucy nodded. “Technically, she’s my former foster daughter. Diana was with me for six years until she aged out of the system. She’s twenty now. We kept in touch for a year or so. But I lost contact with her after that. She changed her number, changed her job. I had no idea she’d gotten pregnant.” She nodded toward the screwdriver on the coffee table. “I gave that to her in a tool set one Christmas. I guess she brok
e into my apartment to leave the baby with me. Probably took the twenty I had stashed in my knitting basket. She called me out of the blue yesterday—said she had something she wanted to show me. I invited her for lunch today, but she never came. I tried calling the number she used, but the phone went straight to voice mail.”
She rocked back and forth, ever so subtly, soothing the infant as he began to stir. “I went to my office to look up her most recent address and phone number to make sure I had it right—and discovered she’d left me a pretty disturbing message on my answering machine there. I’ve been out looking for her ever since. One of the neighbors at the last address where I knew her to live said Diana had a boyfriend move in with her about six months ago. She never knew his name, so that was a dead end. Shortly after that they moved to Carmody Street, she thought—”
“Carmody?” The elder Watson muttered a curse under his breath. “That’s not a good part of town. You didn’t go there to look for her by yourself, did you? At the police department, we call that part of town no-man’s-land.”
“I can believe it.” The two men exchanged a grim look. “No one there recognized Diana, and they couldn’t tell me the boyfriend’s name, either. I wasn’t sure where to look after that. How does a young woman just...disappear?” Lucy’s thoughts drifted to all the morbid possibilities that had driven her to search for Diana. “Why wouldn’t she keep Tommy with her? Why wouldn’t she stay at my place with him if she was in trouble?”
“If she’s the mother,” Niall cautioned. “We’d have to blood-type him and run DNA on both mother and son to be certain.”
