This Little Baby

by Joyce Sullivan

  “Try again, Francine. I’ll help,” Paulina whispered in desperation. Crawling forward on her knees, she wedged her body against the front passenger seat. Then she braced her good leg on the door as Francine pushed it up. This time the door caught and locked in place. Francine helped Paulina to stand and they slid into the water.

  The shock of the river’s chilly embrace overwhelmed her for an instant. Until the will to survive took over. Paulina made a few hurried butterfly kicks, scooping at the water with her arms to get clear of the minivan. Then she went into a dead man’s float to conserve her energy. The current carried her downstream. She’d always assumed the river was shallow here—there were parts of the river where people constructed rock pile sculptures for the viewing pleasure of the bridge commuters—but she couldn’t touch bottom. The bank wasn’t that far away, but battling the current to get there would require more energy than she had. She’d never felt so tired in her life. Or so cold—except for the patch of warmth on her right hip. Was she losing a lot of blood?

  Francine splashed beside her doing a breaststroke. “It’s all right, sugar,” she said. “We made it. Try to hang on. Help’s on the way—I hear sirens.”

  Paulina put her head in the water to rest, then pulled herself up for a nice, easy breath. “Do you see D-doug and Lydia?” she gasped as water sprayed into her mouth.

  Francine’s eyes widened, her hair plastered around her face. She turned her head to look at the minivan. “No, but who cares about them? They get what they deserve. I never meant for you to—”

  Paulina lost the tail end of Francine’s sentence as she lowered her face back into the water. Staying alive became her main concern. She blew her breath out steadily through her nose, then lifted her head above water again and gulped a breath of air. Fatigue invaded her muscles. Paulina wasn’t sure how much longer she could go on. Francine was still talking, her voice an unintelligible jumble in Paulina’s mind.

  Paulina thought she must be going into shock because Francine’s voice was altering—sounding unmistakably like Gil’s. Up, breathe, down, rest. Up, breathe, down, rest. She tried so hard to persevere, knowing rescue couldn’t be far away. Her body felt unbearably heavy, as if she’d snagged a lead weight and it was dragging her down. She desperately wanted to lay her head down in the water and rest—just for a minute.

  “Paulina!” Gil’s voice practically bellowed in her ear, making her lift her head from the water, take another breath. “I’m coming, sweetheart. Hang on.”

  Was she hallucinating?

  Paulina slipped below the surface of the water. With a superhuman effort, she pulled herself back up again—like a child pulling on her father’s coattails. To her disbelieving eyes, a man was cutting through the water straight toward them. His arms moving at a furious pace.

  Francine let out a whoop. “Now that’s what I call a prince.”

  Paulina wholeheartedly agreed as Gil reached her. She quickly reassured him that Mikey hadn’t been in the minivan, then let herself rest in his arms.

  GIL GAZED DOWN at the battered figure sleeping in the hospital bed and hardly recognized her. Paulina’s pale skin was mottled with a mass of bruises that made him wince. One side of her head was red and swollen, ugly purple colorings streaking her face. And beneath that sickly yellow hospital gown, he knew a dressing covered a gunshot wound. A graze, the doctor had called it. But the thought of how close it could have been sent Gil’s stomach churning unsteadily.

  He was still trembling from the shock of seeing her go over that bridge.

  She had a minor concussion, a sprained ankle, abrasions and contusions, but she’d be all right. They just wanted to keep her in hospital overnight for observation.

  His Paulina was the worse for wear, but still alive.

  Lydia and Doug hadn’t been so lucky—she’d died instantly and Doug had drowned before the police could save him.

  Love, gratitude and guilt mingled in Gil’s heart. Paulina was one hell of a woman. She’d risked her life to find Mikey. Gil loved her and respected her in a way he had never thought possible. The feeling was so fragile, like the blown-glass figurines his mother collected, that he was afraid to embrace it for long for fear it would shatter. He didn’t know many men who had the guts to do what she had done to save herself. When he’d caught hold of her in the river, he’d been so exultant at finding her alive, he’d wanted to gather her to him. To keep her safe and close to his heart so he wouldn’t feel so damn vulnerable.

  Zuker and Robbins reassured him the police were all over Lydia’s house. They were confident they’d find some kind of records, which would tell them exactly where Mikey was, but they would have to act with the utmost caution so as not to endanger him. Gil Just had to be patient and let them do their job.

  Gil pulled a chair close to the bed. Hitching up the backto-front hospital gowns a nurse had given him to wear until his parents arrived with dry clothes, he sat down and warmed Paulina’s cold, slender hand with his own. Here was as good a place to wait as any.

  PAULINA OPENED HER eyes to the muted morning light and groaned. How could it hurt to open your eyelids? Then her gaze fell upon Gil dozing in the chair beside her bed and she forgot all about the pain as she absorbed every detail of his appearance—the bump on his nose, the curl of his dark lashes against the strong curve of his cheeks, the shape of his lips—and felt grateful for the opportunity to do so.

  He’d found her. She didn’t know how he’d done it—the details were foggy in her mind. She didn’t even remember being transported to the hospital. She did remember Gil had been with her all that time. She’d heard him arguing with a nurse or a doctor, insisting that he stay in the room with her. She smiled, the muscles in her face twinging with pain. Of course, he’d won. She recalled trying to warn the nurse or the doctor that it was pointless to argue with him; he was a darn, stubborn man. But it came out as a weak, mewling sound and she hadn’t the strength to repeat herself.

  She was just so very glad he was here. And that he seemed none the worse for wear for his swim in the river.

  She looked at him for a long time, finding the way he’d managed to squeeze his massive frame into the vinyl chair by hunching his shoulders around his ears oddly endearing. He was wearing jeans. A black T-shirt stretched snugly across his broad chest. His hands rested loosely—one across the ridged muscles of his abdomen, the other dangling over the arm of the chair. Paulina found the fine, dark, swirling hair on his arms sexy in the extreme, making her want to crawl out of the hospital bed and plunk herself down in the cradle of his lap, where she could feel those arms tighten around her and experience the magic of his kiss. Memories of their lovemaking blanketed the soreness in her body with a fusion of downy heat.

  She sighed and closed her eyes, shielding herself from temptation.

  “I’ll TAKE GOOD CARE of her,” Gil promised the doctor, who was signing Paulina’s release papers.

  “See that you do,” the doctor responded. “Check her pupils every hour and her mental status. If she falls asleep and you can’t rouse her, there’s something serious going on and we’ll need to do another CT scan. Try to rest the ankle—keep her off it for at least a day. It should be feeling normal in a week or so.” The doctor winked at Paulina. “Take it easy in those high heels.”

  “Gil, you don’t have to do this,” Paulina said, looking visibly annoyed while he helped her out of bed and into a wheelchair. She winced as he cupped her elbows to keep her from putting any weight on her bad ankle. “You’re not responsible for me—”

  “You got hurt working for me—that makes me responsible,” he said firmly, dismissing her argument.

  “It’s not particularly wise to go around making statements like that,” she grumbled, gingerly lifting each leg—clad in rose-colored sweats that Andrea had brought by for Paulina’s trip home—and setting it in a footrest. “Andrea will be happy to baby-sit me. She said so.”

  “You can’t expect her to hold down the fort at your agency
and look after you, too,” he commented dryly. “You already sent her off to gather Mikey’s file together and stock the kitchen for your convalescence.”

  “But Gil,” she said patiently, “you’re a client.”

  He didn’t miss the inflection of her tone, the resolute reestablishment of boundaries. “Not anymore.” His hands tightened on the handles of the wheelchair as he pushed it forward. “As of this moment, you’re fired.”

  She snorted.

  Gil couldn’t figure out what she was so bent out of shape about—unless she was worried he might have to assist her with personal intimacies like dressing and bathing. Andrea had helped Paulina dress this morning. Gil didn’t know whether to be irritated or flattered. They’d made love, for goodness’ sake. Whether she wanted him near or not, every centimeter of her silken body was indelibly inscribed in his memory.

  “I could take you to my house instead until we hear more from the police,” he offered. “My mom’s got nursing experience. Maybe you’d feel more comfortable having a woman look after you.” The elevator button pinged and the massive doors slid open, allowing them entrance.

  “That’s very sweet, Gil, but your mother already has her hands full with your dad. Besides, my apartment is closer to the police station. With luck, Robbins and Zuker will ferret out Mikey’s location by the end of the day.”

  “Well, then, it looks like you’re stuck with me.”

  She sighed audibly. “Yes, I guess so.”

  Gil wasn’t the least bit sure how to interpret that sigh either.

  THE DARN MAN INSISTED on carrying her upstairs and over the threshold to her apartment. Andrea was there waiting, holding the door open for them. Paulina didn’t know whether it was heaven or hell to be held so firmly against him. She hurt everywhere her body made contact with his, but snuggling her head under his chin and inhaling the sexy, male scent of his skin while his heart pounded steadily beneath her ear was pure bliss.

  She gritted her teeth as Gil carried her down the hall to her bedroom and laid her on the bed, propping a pillow beneath her sprained ankle. The gentleness of his touch sent a frisson of awareness through her body. Paulina was all too cognizant that he’d made love to her on this bed. In this room. No wonder Eve couldn’t resist the apple when it was constantly within her reach.

  “You cold?” he asked, his indigo eyes flashing with concern.

  “N-no,” she stammered.

  “Are you sure? You’re shivering.” He put his hand on her forehead to test her temperature and Paulina nearly leaped out of her skin.

  Andrea entered the room carrying a plastic tub of water, her steps slow and mincing. “I thought you’d like to clean up after that dip in the river,” she said cheerfully. “It won’t be as good as a bath, but maybe we’ll try that tomorrow.”

  “You’re a lifesaver, Andrea,” Paulina muttered, feeling slightly hysterical.

  “You don’t have a fever,” Gil said, frowning down at her. He leaned closer and looked into her eyes, his face inches from hers. “Your pupils look all right.”

  Paulina batted him away. “I’m fine, really.” She turned her gaze on Andrea, who was setting the tub of water on the bed table. “After I freshen up, I want you to take notes while Gil tells us what he found out yesterday at Newcombe’s office. Maybe we can assist the police in finding Mikey.”

  Gil put his hands on his hips. “I distinctly remember firing you about forty minutes ago.”

  She smiled at him sweetly, feeling her facial muscles contort in a smile that must be hideous to be viewed. “Fired or no, I don’t quit until the job is done.” Besides. the sooner the police found Mikey, the sooner her life would revert to normal—minus Gil Boyer.

  “You are unbelievably stubborn. Do you know that?” Gil asked, shaking his head.

  “That’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

  “You were almost killed—”

  Andrea put two fingers in her mouth and let loose an ear-piercing whistle. “Okay, that’s enough you two.” Paulina stared at her friend in amazement. Andrea playfully tapped Gil’s chest. “Trust me on this, Big Guy. This is your cue to exit gracefully and give Paulina some privacy. There’s coffee on the stove and Danish on the counter. Help yourself.”

  Gil looked ready to object, then set his mouth in a firm, disapproving line.

  Paulina breathed a sigh of relief when Andrea shut the door firmly behind him. “Thanks, pal.” She rested her eyes, enjoying the temporary reprieve from Gil. But a muffled snicker made her eyes snap open. Andrea was leaning against the door, laughing her head off.

  “I don’t see what’s so funny,” Paulina muttered sourly.

  “Don’t you?” Andrea snorted. “I find it remarkable how someone who’s astutely intuitive with other people can be incredibly blind when it comes to her own life.”

  Paulina clenched fistfuls of her duvet cover in her hands. “I’m not blind. I’m just being smart.”

  “Hmm.” Andrea didn’t sound convinced, but she managed to keep a straight face.

  “Let’s just get the bath over with quickly, okay? I can’t think about anything else but getting Mikey home safe and sound.”

  THE PHONE RANG at 3:47 p.m. Gil picked up the extension in the living-room on the first ring, hoping the noise wouldn’t disturb Paulina. Fatigue had finally conquered her pigheaded determination forty minutes earlier and she’d fallen asleep with her cute scraped-up nose still buried in Mikey’s file. Gil had moved the file to the far side of the bed so she’d be more comfortable.

  “Mr. Boyer, this is Detective Robbins. How is Ms. Stewart doing?”

  “Fine. She’s too stubborn to let a few bruises stop her for long.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, because we believe we’ve got a fix on your nephew’s location.”

  Gil’s heart stopped. “You found him? Are you sure?”

  “As sure as we can be until we access the house. We found a diskette at Lydia’s home with her records on it. We’ve interviewed the couple who were adopting Mikey. They haven’t received the child. Lydia had told them the birth mother needed additional time because there’d been a death in the family.” Robbins cleared his throat. “So, based on your suggestion, we probed into Susan ClarkFitzhugh’s background. Turns out she’s Doug Clark’s sister. We put some surveillance on her house. One of our men just called in. Says they spotted her in a window with a light-haired baby in her arms. According to her neighbors, Clark-Fitzhugh doesn’t have any children. She and her husband keep to themselves. We got a call in to the Children’s Aid Society—they’re sending a social worker so we can go in. I’ve dispatched a car to meet you. I thought you and Ms. Stewart might like to be present.”

  “Of course we want to be there,” Gil stated adamantly.

  “I thought so. But under no circumstances are you to approach your nephew. In a situation like this, his identity will have to be positively established. He’ll be placed in a foster home in the meantime.”

  A foster home? Gil swallowed a frustrated protest. He couldn’t believe that after all he’d been through to find Mikey, he was going to be denied access to him—even temporarily. This sounded so crazy. “When can I bring him home?” he asked.

  Robbins paused awkwardly, making Gil’s anxiety escalate. “A social worker will explain the procedure once we have Mikey in protective custody. Our immediate concern is to recover the child. The car should be arriving any minute.”

  Gil hung up the phone. He hoped Robbins wasn’t inferring he might not be granted custody of Mikey. A mushroom cloud of elation overshadowed this new worry as he quickly called his parents with the news, then sailed down the hallway to Paulina’s bedroom. He crept to the side of her old-fashioned iron bed and gazed down at her sleeping form. His heart expanded with the love he had for her until his chest ached. Her hair was black as night against the lavender pillow slip. She was still wearing the pink sweats—due either to modesty or her habit of being prepared to go at a moment’s notice. Though she was bl
ackand-blue from head to toe, Gil thought she’d never looked more beautiful to him.

  Damn, he wanted to kiss her!

  And this was probably his last chance. He kneeled on the gleaming oak floor and tenderly brushed a kiss onto a patch of white skin on her forehead that had escaped bruising. She stirred in her sleep, moving in a sensuous way that made him long to stretch out beside her and feel every silken contour of her body molded against him.

  “Paulina, wake up,” he whispered, daring a second kiss. The scent of her silken skin lingered on his lips as her eyelids fluttered open.

  Instant wariness settled in her eyes.

  But even the knowledge that she didn’t want him couldn’t dampen his joy at knowing Mikey would soon be with him.

  “You’re taking this concussion business seriously, aren’t you?” she said grumpily. “It’s bad enough they woke me up at the hospital every hour. How are my pupils?”

  “Beautiful,” he said with unabashed enthusiasm, barely giving them a glance. He was grinning so hard he thought his face would crack. He braced his forearms on the edge of the bed, fortifying himself against the fearsome sight of her bruised face sporting an arctic frown.

  “Gil—”

  “The police think they’ve found Mikey,” he announced, dropping his bomb. “They’re sending a car for us.”

  “Really? That’s wonderful!” She threw back the duvet that covered her slender body and hooked her arms around his shoulders, making him catch his breath in surprise. “Let’s go,” she said. “I’m ready.”

  “What? Like this?” Gil asked, settling his hands obediently around her waist. “Don’t you want a shoe for your good foot?” Knowing Mikey would soon be safe and having Paulina this close and smiling at him was a powerful aphrodisiac. He counted to five slowly and reminded himself that Paulina had thrown her arms around him to demand that he carry her—not kiss her.

  “Why bother with a shoe when you’re going to carry me anyway?” she pointed out pragmatically. “Now, who phoned? I want to know exactly what they said.”