She laughed softly, unable to resist kissing his forehead. He tasted of sweat. And lovemaking. “Maybe that’s where Elena got it from.”
He felt her freeze against him, the movement registering subconsciously even as he explored her words, trying to make sense of them. “What do you mean?”
How could she have let that slip out like that? Dammit, this wasn’t the way she’d wanted to let him know.
She’d begun to realize, after watching Dylan with Elena these last few weeks, that not letting him know he was the baby’s father was wrong. That he needed to know. But she hadn’t given up her feelings about the weight of her words. She didn’t want Elena to be the reason he remained with her. She had to have his love first.
At a loss, Lucy searched for words to cover her slip, but nothing plausible occurred to her. There were already so many lies, so many denials between them, she didn’t want to add to their number.
But she didn’t want the truth coming to him when she was so unprepared.
When she gave him no reply, suspicions began to form. From the recesses of his mind, he remembered her saying she hadn’t made love in over nine months. He hadn’t paid attention then, he did now. Ten months ago, she’d been with him, not some phantom lover.
She’d deliberately lied to him.
A bitter taste rose into his mouth, almost choking him. He’d never been one to hope, but he sought it out now. Lucy had been the one thing he’d believed in.
“She’s mine, isn’t she?” His eyes bore into her, creating small holes. “Don’t lie to me, Lucy. Is Elena my daughter?”
Lucy turned away. It wasn’t the accusation in his eyes, it was the hurt she saw that was impossible to bear. “Yes.”
Stunned, Dylan got out of bed, away from the woman he only thought he knew.
“I always believed that no matter what, the one thing I could rely on was that you’d always tell me the truth.” Anger rumbled in his voice as he yanked on his jeans. “Dammit, Lucy, if Elena’s mine, why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded hotly. It was all he could do to keep from shaking the answer from her. “It wasn’t like I didn’t ask you.”
The accusatory tone had her on her feet in an instant, with the bed between them like a barrier. “Because I didn’t want you to think of her as a weapon, as a bargaining chip, that’s why,” she spat out hotly.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Was he that thick, that blind? “I didn’t want her to be the reason you came back to me—if you came back to me,” she amended, knowing she had just made a giant leap. “I didn’t want you to think I was trying to trap you.”
He couldn’t believe what she was saying. All this time, she’d carried his child within her, and she hadn’t told him. Had actively kept the information from him. Was everything he’d believed about her a lie as well?
“So you lied to me?”
She felt trapped, her back against the wall. This wasn’t coming out right at all. She wanted to have chosen her time, her place. Above all, she wanted him to understand why she had done it. But words eluded her, evaporating from her brain like so many beads of water in the sun. “It seemed like the thing to do at the time.”
He rounded the bed, looming over her. “And at what time did you plan to tell me she was mine?”
Another lie would only make things worse. But the truth made nothing better. “I hadn’t worked that out yet.”
Because he was afraid of what he would do to her, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets. He grappled instead with his anger. And his hurt.
How could she?
“I believed you. When you told me she wasn’t mine, I believed you. Believed you because I knew you’d never lie to me. Believed you even when it ripped out my insides to think that you could go to someone else’s bed before the sheets we’d shared were even cool.” Anger turned to rage, threatening to boil over. “Do you know what that did to me?”
The look in his eyes was frightening, but she wasn’t going to allow it to intimidate her. She’d had things to struggle with herself. Things he’d probably never even considered.
Lucy tossed her hair over her shoulders, her eyes narrowing into angry slits. “About the same thing it did to me to have you leave without even a decent explanation.”
Oh, no, she wasn’t going to turn this around on him. She was the guilty one here. He’d done what he had to protect her. “So you did what?” he shouted at her. “You withheld the fact that Elena was my daughter from me just to punish me?”
She drew herself up. “If that’s what you think, you never knew me at all.”
He struggled to ignore the wounded look in her eyes. She wasn’t going to distract him like that. He was the injured party here, not her. “If I hadn’t come back when I did, you wouldn’t have ever told me about my daughter, would you?”
He was whitewashing it, making her the heavy, she thought angrily.
“You didn’t ‘come back,’” she reminded him, her voice as infused with suppressed anger as his. “You were here on police business, to tell me my brother had been killed. If it hadn’t been for that, for your damn case, you wouldn’t be here now.”
The words cut deep. He was here to protect her, not because he wanted to solve the case. “Is that what you think?”
Yes, that’s what she thought. She didn’t want to, but he’d given her no choice. She raised her chin pugnaciously. “Am I wrong?”
The urge to throttle her was almost overwhelming. He couldn’t risk remaining in the room with her much longer. “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”
“You can’t talk at all.” She heard the baby begin to cry again. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, our daughter is crying.”
Turning on her heel, she walked out.
He watched her go.
Dylan raked his fingers through his hair, still fighting for composure as he drove to the stakeout. Anger choked him. Anger and a sense of betrayal the magnitude of which he’d never experienced before. Over the years, he’d come to expect nothing from no one. That way, he was never disappointed.
But he’d expected better from Lucy. She’d been different, so different from everyone else who had and did populate his life. And because she was different, she’d managed to slip through the barriers that were erected all around him and gotten inside.
He’d given Lucy the power to hurt him and now she had.
Because he couldn’t safely predict what he’d do or say, he’d taken himself out of the volatile equation and left the house without another word.
Left, he realized belatedly now, without thinking. Argument or not, Lucy still needed someone to go with her and Elena to work. Or at least make sure she got off all right.
Reaching for his cell phone, Dylan swore at himself. What kind of a cop was he, anyway? He’d broken the first cardinal rule. He’d allowed his personal emotions to get in the way of his being a cop.
His finger poised to hit the buttons, he couldn’t remember O’Hara’s cell number. Exasperated, he tossed aside the cell phone and called dispatch instead, using the car phone.
“This is Detective McMorrow.” He rattled off his badge number to verify his claim. “I need Detective O’Hara’s cell number.”
The woman on the other end gave it to him, then added, “But I don’t think it’s going to do you much good right now.”
Impatience drummed lanky fingers through him. Now what? “Why?”
“Detective O’Hara just called in to say he was taking some personal time and would be gone the rest of the day. His wife just went into labor. He asked me to call you and tell you that he was sorry.” It was clear from her tone that she had no idea why an apology was necessary. “But I couldn’t reach you. Was your cell phone off?”
She asked the question out of thin air.
A single thought played and replayed itself through his mind. Lucy was alone. He’d left her alone. And there was no telling what she could be up against.
Gripping t
he wheel, one eye on the rearview mirror for any oncoming traffic, Dylan made a sharp U-turn in the middle of the block.
The car behind him came to a screeching halt, pulling onto the sidewalk. Dylan drove on without a backward glance.
She’d heard the front door slam and knew that he was gone. All the hot words that she had flung at him burned now on her tongue like acid. More than anything, she wanted to run after Dylan to demand to know what gave him the right to jerk her soul around this way.
She wanted him to hold her and apologize for what he’d said.
She wanted to apologize for what she’d said.
But she remained where she was, holding her daughter to her, forbidding herself to cry. Tears were for women who had lost something. You couldn’t lose what you’d never had in the first place.
“But at least I have you,” she whispered to the small face that looked up at her. Her heart aching, she kissed Elena’s forehead. “And you are the very best part of both of us.”
Lucy had just finished feeding Elena and placed the baby back into her crib when she heard the doorbell. Her heart began to race immediately.
“Is that your daddy? Did he come back to say he was sorry?” She wiped away traces of tears that had refused not to fall with the heel of her hand. “Probably not. Probably just somebody selling magazines.”
Dylan wouldn’t have rung the doorbell, he would have used his key, wouldn’t he?
She no longer knew anything for sure as she hurried to the front door.
Maybe he was being formal. Distant. That would be just like him, she thought.
Reaching the front door, Lucy tightened the sash at her waist and braced herself for whatever was to come.
Or so she thought.
Dylan narrowly avoided merging with a silver Honda as he swerved around the vehicle, trying to make up for lost time. He was driving like a man with the devil on his tail, all the while telling himself he was behaving irrationally. There was no real reason to suspect that Lucy and Elena were in any sort of immediate danger. Just because there was no one to watch the house didn’t automatically mean that someone had gotten to her.
“What’re the odds, McMorrow? You’re letting this whole case get to you,” he upbraided himself, whizzing through a light that had just turned red.
But he couldn’t shake the feeling. The feeling that he was right. That she and the baby were in danger. Palmero’s men could have been watching the house all along. Watching the police watch her. And now the break in the link had come.
Dammit, why hadn’t he noticed that the car parked across the street wasn’t a Camry but another mid-size vehicle? Only the color had registered, and the color had been the same as O’Hara’s vehicle. Navy blue.
He didn’t waste time wondering if it was a coincidence or a plant left there on purpose so his attention wouldn’t be drawn to the absence of a car. All he could think about, all he could focus on, was getting back to Lucy before it was too late.
Lucy tried to shut the door, but she was no match for the two men who pushed their way into her house. Where was the man who was supposed to be guarding her? Why had he let Palmero and some man who looked like he was more suited to living his life in the world’s dark shadows get by?
Praying that the detective was even now on the line calling for back up, she took a step away from the two. Despite the small hope she was trying to nurture, she was acutely aware that she was alone in the house with these two men.
Palmero looked at her with a cold, detached smile that didn’t begin to reach his eyes. She had a feeling that he thrived on fear. She did her best to hide hers.
Steely gray-blue eyes washed over her, taking measure. “Really, Lucy, I am hurt. You don’t return my calls, you turn down my generous offers to help you. You even snub my invitations.” He placed his hand over his heart, the rings on his fingers glinting and winking at her, flirting with the sunlight coming through the windows. “Is that any way for a lovely woman in distress to behave?”
She didn’t know who posed more of a threat, the man who was talking, or the one who wasn’t. The latter was to the left of her, and she had an uneasy feeling he was about to circle behind her.
Still, she raised her chin, her eyes defiantly on Palmero’s. “I’m not in distress.”
“You think not?”
Palmero’s smile bordered on malevolent, making her blood run cold. All she could think of was Elena in the next room. They seemed to have forgotten about her. She prayed that the baby wouldn’t cry and bring attention to herself.
“Why should I be in distress?”
Traces of the smile vanished as if it had never existed. “Because ladies who keep things that don’t belong to them are always in distress.” With his eyes, he motioned to the other man, who took a step closer to Lucy. She knew it was calculated to play on her fear, but that didn’t stop the fear from growing. “I’ve been more than patient, but my patience is just about used up. I assure you, you don’t want to be around when it is. Now, where is it?”
Dammit, why couldn’t Ritchie just have worked for her full-time? Why had he gotten himself involved with this monster? “Where’s what?”
“Don’t act stupid, it doesn’t become you.” There was an edge to the smooth voice that drove her fear up another notch. “I like family loyalty. There isn’t enough of it around these days.” Palmero’s eyes pinned her like a moth to a poster-board mount. “I hear you and your brother were very close, he shared everything with you.”
Lucy backed away until she couldn’t move any farther. The sofa was at her back, the coffee table and Palmero in front. “Not everything.”
All pretense at patience dissolved. “The tape,” he shouted into her face. “Where is the damn tape he took?”
“What tape?” she shouted back, her fear suddenly swallowed by anger at the threat this man posed to her daughter, by the cold realization that she was really facing the man who’d had her brother murdered. Adrenaline pushed aside common sense, giving her strength. “You’ve torn apart my house and my shop. If I had the damn tape, where could I have hidden it?”
“Exactly what I want to know.”
Everything went still, underscoring the clink of the gun he was suddenly pointing at her.
She had one chance.
With a shriek meant to throw them off by just a fraction, Lucy ducked and shoved the coffee table straight at him, striking him squarely in the shins.
The gun went off, the shot going wild. A guttural cry came from the henchman at almost the same time. The man went down, clutching his shoulder and cursing as blood spilled through his spread fingers.
Enraged, Palmero jumped over the table and caught Lucy by the robe as she tried to get away. He yanked her to him so hard, the air was almost knocked out of her. The last remnants of Palmero’s facade dropped away.
“You little bitch,” he snarled into her face, the gun barrel pressed against her temple, “you’re going to make this damned difficult, aren’t you.”
Holding her by the waist, he managed to pin both of her arms to her side. The metal felt cold against her skin as he ran it along the edge where the robe met her breasts. The sickening sweetness was back in his voice.
“Now, why do you want to do that when I can make this so pleasant for you?”
“Hey, I’m bleeding here, dammit,” the man on the floor cried.
“Shut up, you’ve gotten worse shaving.” Palmero’s attention never left Lucy. “Now, talk.”
It was all she could do not to tremble outwardly. Inside, she was vibrating. This had to have been the way Ritchie had felt in his last moments, she thought. Digging deep inside herself, Lucy played it the way she knew her brother would have. With bravado and sarcasm to the end, stalling and hoping for a last-minute miracle.
“Fine.” Her voice was flippant. “What’ll we talk about?”
“How about that he’s going to let you go and then maybe I’ll let him walk away with his life.”
Lucy’s heart lodged in her throat. The last-minute miracle she’d been praying for had materialized.
Dylan was in the doorway with his gun trained on Palmero.
Tightening his hold, Palmero raised his gun back to Lucy’s temple. “Go ahead, shoot,” he taunted. “You’ll get her. And even if you don’t, you think your bullet will reach me before mine reaches her brain?” He cocked the trigger. “I don’t think so.”
Dylan felt as if his own heart had stopped beating. One tiny miscalculation on his part and Lucy would pay for it with her life. But he had to play it from a position of strength. Men like Palmero understood nothing else.
His eyes never left the other man’s face. Dylan’s voice was calm, as if he was ordering a bland breakfast special from a worn menu. “Put it down, Palmero. You’re still alive, we can work things out. The police are on their way, you’ve got nothing to gain by killing her.”
Palmero’s smile widened, appearing almost maniacal. “Does the word satisfaction mean anything to you?” He moved the barrel slowly along Lucy’s forehead, bringing it back to its original position. His eyes dared Dylan to make a move.
Dylan had no choice. The man could kill as easily as he could draw breath. He could see it in his eyes. Dylan let his weapon fall laxly in his hands, spreading his thumb and three fingers wide around it. It dangled from the remaining finger.
“All right, I’m putting it down.” Dylan bent his knees, sinking down slowly and watching Palmero. “Let her go.” He set the weapon on the floor in front of him.
Keen on his victory, Palmero cocked his head, smirking. “You disappoint me, McMorrow. I thought it would be more of a contest between us. You know, guns blazing, damsel in distress bleeding as she sank to the ground, that sort of thing.”
The look in Dylan’s eyes damned the man’s soul to hell. He kept his hands raised. “Maybe next time.”
A look of solemnity came over Palmero’s face as he took careful aim at Dylan. “There isn’t going to be a next time.”
Terror filled Lucy. He was going to kill Dylan. With all her might, Lucy swung her leg back and dug her heel into Palmero’s shin, hitting the same spot that she’d gotten before with the table.
The Once and Future Father Page 18
