The Baby's Defender

by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  “We’d better check them out, anyway.”

  West popped his head into Cady’s room and let her know Livvy was fine, then he and Officer Harmon set off on their search mission. By the time they’d checked out the servants’ stairway, top and bottom, to discover it was still locked and boarded up at both ends, the EMTs and CSI personnel were arriving, a plainclothes detective with them. Everyone went about their business with calm efficiency while West and Officer Harmon finished scouring the premises.

  They’d wound up in the spacious but old-fashioned kitchen when Cady walked into the room wearing a pair of black leggings and a floral-patterned, long-tailed blouse. Her medium-length blond hair had been pulled back in a ponytail. She held her athletic figure erect, chin high, but her eyes wore shadows.

  “Did you find out how the intruder gained access to my home?” Her wide gaze shifted from West to the officer and back again.

  “Sorry.” West rolled his shoulders in a tense shrug. “Everything appears locked up tight and in order.” It was beyond frustrating that they hadn’t been able to discover the way the attacker got in or the method he used to slip away.

  “There’s no sign of forced entry anywhere, ma’am,” Officer Harmon added.

  Cady appeared to wilt. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”

  West stepped up to her and placed a hand on her arm. She lifted those expressive amber eyes to his.

  He offered a small smile. “Let me make you a cup of tea while law enforcement finishes up here.”

  “Tea sounds wonderful,” Cady answered with a hint of enthusiasm.

  Harmon nodded toward them and vacated the room.

  “Pick a seat and I’ll wait on you.” West motioned toward the chairs around the kitchen table. “No argument.” He forestalled her objection with a wagging finger, then turned toward the stove and flicked on the gas flame under the traditional kettle Cady always kept on the burner ready to heat.

  “Now, let me see where this creep hit you.” He stepped around behind her, and Cady sat still while he gently parted her hair. The light-colored strands were soft between his fingers, and the pleasant scent of her fruity shampoo wafted up to him. “There’s a red mark, but not much swelling.”

  “Yes, the medical personnel told me I should be examined by a doctor once the clinic opens, just to be safe, but they doubt I have a concussion.”

  “That’s one good thing.” He moved in front of her. “Did you get any kind of a look at your attacker?”

  “Not a thing. The person was behind me or sitting on me the whole time. The detective asked me the same thing, but the best description I could give was that, judging by weight, the intruder could have been a small man or a large woman.”

  “A woman?” West let out a soft growl. “I hope they can find some sort of forensic evidence in the bedroom or somewhere in the house to give us a clue who did this.”

  “You and me both. Frankly...” She stopped speaking and tucked her lower lip between her teeth.

  “What is it?”

  “The detective seemed a little skeptical about my story.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “He kept asking me if I was sure about the details I was reporting, and he was really bothered about the fact that the intruder didn’t set off the house alarm. Then when they found a couple strands of my hair in the carved woodwork of my bed’s headboard, he asked if I might have hit my head on it.”

  West huffed. “Implication being that you caused your own head injury? How ridiculous.”

  “I’m not sure what he was implying, but he seemed to take everything I said with a grain of skepticism.”

  “Maybe it’s just his way of being thorough.” West went to the cupboards to hide his scowl from her. He didn’t need to upset her further with an anger spike, but maybe he needed to have a personal talk with that detective about his crime-side manner.

  He pulled out a pair of mugs, equipped with infusers, from the cupboard where he’d seen her store them last week when he’d been here fixing a leaky faucet. A tea canister sat next to the mugs, still with its plastic shrink-wrap seal. West broke the wrap, opened the lid and took a whiff of the dried roots and leaves inside.

  “New flavor,” he said. “Unusual. Smells faintly of celery.”

  “When it comes to tea, the odor and the flavor can be quite different. The canister came in the gift basket I received from the neighborhood watch committee when I moved in, but I wanted to finish my Tuscan herbal lemon variety before I opened the new container.”

  The kettle whistled and West turned off the heat. The shrill noise faded while he added several scoops of the new tea into the infuser baskets. He poured the steaming water over the exotic-looking dried herbs, then set a cup in front of Cady.

  With his own mug he took a seat at the table opposite her. “I’m glad you called me at the same time you called the cops. Your trust means a lot to me.”

  Probably too much. His growing attraction to the widow of one of his squad members made him more than uncomfortable. What was he to do with feelings that seemed disloyal to his courageous buddy and were certainly too soon for him to look for reciprocation from his widow? West shook off the internal dilemma and gave his full attention to the woman across the table from him.

  “I’m ashamed of the way I depend on you and the guys.” Cady wrapped her hands around her mug, as if her fingers were cold, and stared at the brew inside.

  “Are you kidding me? It’s our duty and honor to watch over you and Baby-bug.”

  She glanced up at him, those wonderful eyes moist. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that. The three of you even moved to Pennsylvania because I decided to come here and live in this place that I inherited. I know Griff would want you to keep an eye on me, but I almost feel like my choices are dictating your choices. You have your own lives to figure out now that you are civilians again, especially when you’re gearing up to start your own business together.”

  “You think we’re too busy for you?”

  “Not exactly.” She lifted her mug and started to bring it toward her mouth, but then set it down again. “I mean I don’t want to be a burden. I want—no, need—to stand on my own two feet. Eventually.”

  West studied her as he took a sip from his mug. Pleasantly sweet, not vegetable-flavored in the least. Cady was right about the taste being different from the smell.

  “Independence is one thing,” he said. “We understand and respect your boundaries, but things changed radically tonight.”

  Cady visibly shuddered. “I’ll tell you something I didn’t tell the cops because it makes me sound off-my-rocker paranoid. Over the past six weeks or so, I keep getting this creepy sensation at odd moments—like something slithering up my backbone—as if I’m being watched.”

  West’s nostrils flared. He’d experienced the sensation on many missions and learned to listen to it. Someone was spying on Cady? The same person who’d tried to kill her? A logical deduction.

  If he gripped the tea mug any tighter, he’d break it. “Consider yourself the Triple Threat Personal Protection Service’s first client. Pro bono.”

  Cady lifted a hand, palm out. “I couldn’t take advantage of your new company like that. I need your services, but I need to pay like any other client.” A distinctive baby howl blasted through the monitor on the kitchen counter. “Excuse me.” A soft smile spreading her lips, she rose gracefully. “Her highness has awakened quite ravenous.”

  She left the room, and West sat nursing his tea and brooding. In the middle of a sip from his mug, he winced at a tearing sensation in his gut. The room began to waver and wobble as if the walls were breathing. West gripped his head and attempted to stand up, but another abdominal pain—like a KA-BAR knife twisting in his stomach—bent him double.

  The strange tea!

  Did Cady drink any of i
t? He didn’t think so, but his mind was spinning. He couldn’t remember for sure.

  Please, God!

  The world dissolved around him.

  TWO

  Cady paced the hospital waiting room floor, bouncing a fussy Olivia in her arms. What on earth had happened with West? A sudden attack of appendicitis? But appendicitis didn’t cause seizures, did it? The minutes waiting for an ambulance to arrive had been horrible, watching West suffer. The EMTs who’d checked out her head bump had long left the premises, but one of the CSIs finishing up evidence collection had known to clear the area of anything sharp to keep West from injuring himself. Then, as he was being loaded into the ambulance, he seemed to become aware and he kept moaning, “The tea. It was in the tea.” So, feeling a bit foolish, Cady had sent the tea canister along with the EMTs to the hospital.

  The clomping of two pairs of booted feet quick marching alerted her that Brennan and Darius had arrived and were headed up the hallway toward her. She’d called West’s business partners, aka former squad brothers, and apprised them of the situation even before the ambulance arrived at her house. The men burst into view, buddies sharing a level of trust that only comrades in arms can achieve. Darius—of the dark eyes, umber complexion and five-foot-nine-inch package of pure muscle—grabbed her close in a quick squeeze. The moment she was released from the breath-stealing hug, Brennan, a six-foot-tall, lanky and pale Kentuckian, plucked Olivia from her grasp and began tickling his honorary niece.

  What a relief not to feel alone in a crisis anymore. Cady’s leg muscles went weak, and she sank into a nearby chair. Darius perched on the edge of a seat beside her, as if ready to charge into action at any moment. Cady understood. Soldiers hated to sit still when one of their own was in danger. Even Brennan, the more laid-back of the pair, betrayed hyperalertness in the cool blue gaze that kept skimming the waiting room and up and down the hallways, even as he made goofy faces at Livvy, who kicked and cooed in appreciation. Unfortunately, at this moment, there was nothing any of them could do but wait for a report from the medical team working on West.

  “Heard anything more?” Darius asked in his baritone voice.

  “Nothing yet.” Cady’s fingernails dug into the palms of her hands as she struggled against tears.

  How could she bear it if West were stolen from her life, too? God, You wouldn’t be so cruel as to allow that, would You? Cady thrust the question from her mind. Griff’s death had shaken her confidence in God’s care and protection.

  She only knew that in a very short time West had become like an anchor in her personal storm. Ever since Griff was killed in action, West had phoned regularly to check on her—no matter where he was in the world—visited in person when he was on base and acted as a sounding board for the many decisions she’d had to make. She’d never forget how he and the guys had obtained temporary leave to help her move three months ago when she suddenly inherited her great-aunt’s house. That she received the life-changing bequest while she was in her third trimester of pregnancy was hardly convenient, but the stipulations of the will required her to move in immediately or lose possession. Sure, she talked big about independence, but was she ready for it? Certainly not by losing someone else she cared about.

  Darius touched her arm and Cady jerked out of her dark meditations.

  “Sorry.” He lifted his hands, palms out. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Was there some sort of emergency that brought West to your place so early?”

  Rubbing the sore place on her skull, Cady launched into the harrowing tale of her personal attack. If thunderclouds could actually appear on someone’s brow, Darius’s head was wreathed in them, and Brennan’s complexion all but burst into flame as she wrapped up her account of events.

  “You’re our first client, for sure,” the Kentuckian bit out.

  “That’s what West said.” Cady shrugged her shoulders.

  “Then it’s settled,” Darius rumbled. “But right now, you’re going to follow the EMTs’ advice and head down to the ER to have your head examined—literally.”

  Cady grimaced. “More than one person in my lifetime has recommended such an exam to me.”

  The quip drew gentle smiles from the pair of ex-soldiers.

  An hour later, she’d received a clean bill of health from a physician, provided she continued to exhibit no signs of concussion. Now she was back in the waiting room, her chest full and tight, like an invisible fist held her in its grip. Why was there no word yet on West’s condition?

  Darius and Brennan did their best to provide distraction by showering attention on Olivia, insisting on keeping Cady—the nursing mother—hydrated with good, old-fashioned H2O, and pestering the desk nurse for updates, which were not forthcoming. Finally, a tired-looking fortysomething man wearing a doctor’s coat and a stethoscope stepped into the waiting room and called Cady’s name.

  “Here!” she cried, leaping to her feet.

  He motioned her over, and Darius and Brennan followed close on her six, as her military exposure had taught her to refer to the area directly behind her.

  “I’m Dr. Horton, Emergency Medicine Specialist,” he said, eyeing the tough-looking pair looming in her wake. “These two must be Westley’s army buddies and business partners. He said he figured you guys would show up ‘loaded for bear,’ as he put it.”

  “West is all right?” Cady’s words emerged through a constricted throat.

  “I wouldn’t call him all right yet.” The doc grimaced. “Full recovery from cicutoxin takes time, but he’s out of danger now. It was a close call. If you hadn’t sent that tea canister along so we could quickly identify what he’d ingested, I doubt I would have good news for you at this moment. Frankly, we would have spent too much time ruling out reasons other than poison for his seizures and gastrointestinal distress. With cicutoxin, there is no outright antidote. Prompt and proper treatment to mitigate the effects on the body is critical.”

  “What exactly is cicutoxin poisoning?” Darius folded thickly muscled arms over his barrel chest.

  “Cicuta is the Latin name for water hemlock,” the doctor answered. “It’s a highly toxic plant native to wetlands in North America.”

  “Cowbane,” Brennan inserted, face washing pale beneath his tan. “My family has lost livestock to that deadly plant. ’Course, cows just eat whatever’s growin’ out of the ground and tastes good, but people who should know better sometimes confuse the plant with wild parsnip and have cooked it up in their fritters—with fatal results.”

  Darius scowled. “So, this plant is something common that anyone could obtain if they were knowledgeable about what to look for.”

  “I’m afraid so,” the doctor said.

  “Can we see West now?” Cady cut in.

  All this talk of poison sent her head spinning and her heart rate stuttering. The only route to regaining any semblance of calm would be to see him, talk to him, touch him.

  “One at a time,” Dr. Horton said. “And only briefly. He needs to rest while his body works to flush out the remnants of the poison. We’re continuously monitoring his brain activity with an EEG, though the seizures seem to have abated. As far as prognosis, in a strong specimen like him we can hope for recovery to be fairly rapid. Hopefully, we won’t need to keep him longer than overnight.”

  Cady exhaled a long breath. “Thank you, doctor.”

  Shortly, Cady stepped into a small hospital room that smelled faintly of floor wax and antiseptic. West’s strong form filled out the narrow hospital bed. An IV bag dripped a clear substance into a prominent vein in the back of his hand. Immediately, his head swiveled toward her, disturbing the variety of wires which appeared to sprout from his scalp. Of course, he’d heard her soft footfalls over the beeping from the machine connected to those wires. Her heart tripped over that broad Dennis Quaid smile of his.

  Though the edges of her lips wobbled a bit, she managed to gri
n back. “You look like a wonky science experiment.”

  “You mean my new antennae?” His chuckle warmed the last vestige of chill from her bones. “Doc says I have to wear these EEG gadgets until the last chance of a seizure has passed. I don’t recommend having one of those to anyone. Did a number on me. A kitten could wrestle me into submission.”

  Cady amazed herself with a laugh. A few moments ago, she couldn’t imagine expressing any semblance of mirth, but leave it to West to bring humor’s cleansing perspective into a frightening situation. She touched his tanned arm, bare beneath the short sleeve of his hospital gown, and found it as much of a rock as ever. Not that she’d had much cause to know what West’s arms felt like—other than the occasional casual friend hug when the squad had gotten together socially between missions—but Griff’s had been like that, too. The sensation was like connecting with something familiar. Safe.

  “Where’s Baby-bug?” West asked.

  “Darius and Brennan are in the waiting room competing for her attention. Of course, I guarantee if her diaper needs changing, each will be eager to let the other call dibs on her.”

  West’s grin appeared again. “I’d like to be a fly on the wall for that face-off.”

  “I can’t stay long. She’s going to be hungry again soon, and there’s nothing either of those lugs can do to remedy that problem. Besides, the doc said you need to rest.”

  “Rest is overrated.” His brown eyes lost all trace of humor. “I need to get out of here and get on duty.”

  “Duty?”

  “This time, you saved my life. I need to get on with protecting you—and little Livvy.”

  Cady’s cheeks heated. “I saved you? Hardly. I think it’s more like you already started protecting me. The tea was meant for me, but you drank it.”

  “Yes, but I served it to you. Not good on me that you neglected to drink it. I almost killed you!”