Читать книгу The Rookie - Julie Miller - Страница 11

“Dr. Livesay, all due respect, but you don’t know what it’s like to lose a baby.”

Lucy Holcomb sat in the chair across from Rachel, wringing her hands. The twenty-year-old was even more nervous than usual today. Was she still taking her prescribed antidepressant medication? Or was there some new crisis turning the young woman’s life upside down?

Rachel resisted the urge to stand and pace, keeping her eight months of pregnant belly out of Lucy’s direct line of sight. “It’s true I haven’t personally experienced what you’re going through, and I can’t fix it for you. But I can help by listening. Look at all the progress you’ve made so far.”

Lucy tossed her curly chestnut hair over one shoulder and stood to circle the room. Twice. “Ever since the miscarriage, it’s like Kevin and I are fighting all the time. I blame him because he wasn’t around when the contractions started, and he blames me because I didn’t take care of the baby.”

“You know it’s no one’s fault,” Rachel reminded her. “Your O.B. doctor told you as much. There was something wrong with the development of the fetus, and your body handled the situation with a spontaneous abortion. You were progressing with your pregnancy just as the doctor had ordered. Sometimes tragedies like that happen, and, unfortunately, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“But the guilt…” Tears welled up in Lucy’s eyes and overflowed. “It’s not just grief. I feel so guilty.”

Rachel finally stood and took Lucy a tissue. She leaned her hip against the desk in a casual pose. “That’s normal. You can’t beat yourself up over that. We all deal with loss in different ways. Feel different emotions. This is the way that’s right for you.”

Lucy’s mascara blotched in circles around her big, brown eyes. She blew her nose into the tissue. “But Kevin is so angry with me. Sometimes he’s sad and we cry about it and we talk. Then, next thing I know, he’s on my case over every little thing.”

Her outburst of tears ended on a tiny hiccup. “He says we should have another baby.”

Rachel kept her face a placid mask. Oh lord, two kids barely out of their teens, dealing with the loss of one child, anxious to dive into pregnancy again.

“Do you want another baby?”

“I don’t know. Maybe—if it’s what Kevin wants.”

“What about what you want? I think you and Kevin should talk some more.”

“But that’s the problem. He won’t just sit and talk to me like he used to.” Lucy’s gaze lit on Rachel’s protruding stomach. “Maybe a new baby would make him pay attention to me again.”

“Lucy, you and Kevin have issues you need to resolve before you engage in unprotected sex again.” Creating a new life wouldn’t solve the problems of the existing one. “Would he come in and talk with me?”

“I don’t know.” Lucy shrugged helplessly. “I could ask him.”

“If not me, I can give you some names of several reputable counselors.”

“Okay.”

Her phone buzzed and Rachel leaned back over her desk to read the number of the incoming call. It was a message she’d been expecting. Rachel stood and smiled at Lucy. They’d run a few minutes over their scheduled time already. “I need to take this. Will you be okay?”

Lucy sniffed. “Sure.”

Rachel urged Lucy to check out the bathroom and freshen her makeup before venturing out to catch her bus. “I’ll see you next week, won’t I? Even if Kevin doesn’t come with you?”

The young woman dredged up half a smile that revealed the beauty in her face and made her seem terribly young to be dealing with such heavy emotions. “I’ll be here.”

“Good. I’ll see you then. Call if you need to.”

“Bye, Dr. Livesay.”

When the door shut behind her patient, Rachel picked up the phone, blaming her tardiness on her laborious walk.

“Andrew Washburn here. You said you had a concern about the confidentiality of your pregnancy?” In person, he was a gruff, blustery man whose snowy-white hair and mustache reminded her of Colonel Mustard from her childhood game of Clue. But on the phone, he betrayed a blend of shock and concern that made him sound more like a doting old father figure. Which was an odd image to spring to mind for a man whose clinic had fathered hundreds of babies.

“Nothing like getting right to the point.” Rachel pulled the wadded-up note from her coat pocket and spread it flat against the desktop. “I received a message this morning from someone calling himself ‘Daddy.’ Basically, he claims that my baby is his, and that he plans to take her from me.”

Dr. Washburn’s response was half laugh, half snort. “What? That’s preposterous. Our donors and clients are completely anonymous, and are never informed as to when or even if their sperm have been used. Their relationship with us ends after their donation has been made.”

Rachel sighed, schooling her patience. “Someone thinks he knows. He says he wants what’s his.”

“I assure you, the clinic is not to blame here.” She heard a sound in the background, like the shuffling of papers or the tapping of buttons on a keyboard. “No one but myself and a few bonded staff members have access to the sperm donors’ names. There is no way a donor could find out if he was the father of your child.”

Rachel twirled her finger into the curling phone cord, wanting to believe him. “Are you sure?”

“The donor’s name isn’t even listed in your file. Here it is. Only the number is recorded. 93579.”

“Can you tell me who 93579 is?” she asked.

Washburn’s laugh this time seemed more genuine. “Now that would be betraying his confidence.”

Rachel couldn’t see the humor in anything that might pose a threat to her baby.

“Tell you what. I’ll cross-reference the donor’s file and see if there’s anything there that would make me suspicious of his having the opportunity to contact you.”

“What would make you suspicious?” Rachel pulled her shoulders back and stood up straighter. Was there a possibility the father knew her? “I thought you screened all your donor candidates.”

“We do. We do. But his social circle might cross yours somewhere that we missed before. Perhaps you let the number slip and he recognized it.”

Social circles, huh? That would require a social life. Of which she had none. Her life revolved around school and her baby. Other than a few solitary errands and her twice-weekly trip to the Y for a water-aerobics class, she spent her time either on campus or at home. “I don’t think so, Dr. Washburn. The donor’s number is nothing I’ve ever discussed with anyone but you. But I’d appreciate any information you could give me.”

“I’ll read through the file and call you tomorrow.” She overlooked the patronizing gratitude in his voice. The man was probably relieved she hadn’t pushed the issue any further.

“Thank you.”

By the time she hung up the phone she felt exhausted. The baby had snuggled into a comfortable position and fallen asleep. But Rachel couldn’t afford to surrender to her own fatigue—be it physical or emotional.

Maybe that note was just a stupid prank perpetrated by one of her students. But she couldn’t afford to just let it slide without checking out every possibility.

Her baby’s future depended on it.

JOSH STIRRED THE SPOON around in his mug of coffee. He hadn’t added any sugar, but it gave him something to do while he waited for his contact to join him at the secluded table of the Bookstore Coffee House, a few blocks west of the UMKC campus.

Almost as if the thought had summoned him, a trim, well-built man with glossy black hair and golden-brown eyes slid into the seat across from him. “So, how’s college life treating you? You flunking any of your classes yet?”

Josh looked up and grinned at A. J. Rodriguez. He was learning to appreciate the undercover detective’s dry sense of humor. He responded in kind. “I’m doing well enough to maintain my self-respect, but not so well that I can’t fit in with the party crowd.”

A.J. sipped on the frothy cappuccino he’d brought with him. “Gotten any invitations yet?”

“Yeah. I’m heading to a party tonight. I’ve been told that if I can find my way into the back room, I can get my hands on more than a free beer.”

His companion nodded. “Good. Remember, don’t push too hard at first. Find out who your friends are. If you do spot some meth, just note who has it and if it’s all for private use or split up for resale.”

Josh shrugged. “I know the drill. I overlook the underage drinking because this is reconnaissance, not arrest time. I’ll do my job. I know Lieutenant Cutler is waiting for me to screw up so he can deny my promotion. Besides the fact I’ve earned that detective shield, I don’t intend to give him the satisfaction.”

A.J. raised his hands in mock surrender. “Cutler rides everybody hard. ‘By the book’ is not always a bad way to go.”

“You follow your own rules and you made detective.” A.J.’s smile flashed bright white against his olive skin. “That’s because I’m a charming Hispanic and the precinct had to meet its quota for ranking minority officers.”

Josh seriously doubted A.J. had ever achieved his successes on anything less than his own merit. But he played along with the joke. “So you’re saying if you had blond hair, blue eyes and your cousin was captain of the precinct, you’d still be walking a beat?”

“If I had blond hair and blue eyes in the neighborhood where I walked a beat, I’d be toast.” A.J. swirled the coffee around in his cup, then changed the joking mood before taking another sip. “I didn’t agree to be your contact with the department just because Cutler assigned me. I’ve got your big brother to answer to.”

“Cole’s not a cop anymore.” A.J.’s gaze followed a pair of girls who walked past, his eyes convincingly glued to their curvy backsides. “You don’t know that.”

“Cole walked away from the force two years ago. He does private security work now.”

“If you say so.” A.J. dragged his gaze back to Josh. The detective had to be in his mid-thirties, but he blended into the scenery with these trendy young students as if he wasn’t a day over twenty-two. Josh hoped his cover was half as convincing.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” Josh asked.

The rest of the cappuccino disappeared in one last gulp. A.J. scrubbed the remaining foam from his lips with a paper napkin. “What Cole does now is his own business. But the man was my partner for eight years. Since you’re looking to take his place in the drug enforcement division, it seems a natural step to start watching your back.”

Josh bristled at A.J.’s words. “I’m not taking anybody’s place. I’m making my own.”

A.J. nodded, showing no reaction to Josh’s declaration. “Poor choice of words. I apologize. Cutler can be a controlling SOB, but he’s fair. You clean the meth off this campus, and he’ll give you that promotion.”

“Can I get that in writing?” Josh accepted the apology and support with a teasing smile.

“There are no guarantees in this business.” A.J. slipped his hand inside his jacket and pulled out a piece of paper. “Here’s a number where you can reach me at any hour. The line’s secure.” After he pushed the note across the tabletop, A.J. leaned back and rolled his shoulder. His mouth tightened with a wince of pain.

“Still stiff?” Josh knew A.J.’s wound from the Pittmon bust two months ago had done some muscle damage that would be slow to heal. The fact one of the precinct’s best undercover men was out of commission was probably one reason Josh had gotten this assignment. That, and his youthful, wrinkle-free smile.

“A little. When the weather’s about to change, it gets worse.” He shrugged his good shoulder. “I’m not used to sitting on the sidelines.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll call you if I need some backup.”

“You better. I don’t want to have to explain you getting hurt to anyone in your family.” A.J. pulled a stocking cap over his head and stood. “Got any personal messages you want to send out?”

Josh considered the request. “Tell Ma hi and that I’m okay. She worries.”

A.J. nodded. “Where does she think you’ve been these past few weeks? Lying on the beach with some sweet young thing?”

An unexpected image of Rachel Livesay popped into his head. With those kissable lips and expressive green eyes, his psych professor was sweeter than any young thing he’d seen waltz by this table or anyplace on campus. He’d dated a lot of women in his time. But never anyone more than a couple of years older than him, and never anyone who was pregnant.

He wasn’t quite sure how to explain his fascination with the older woman. Maybe it was the fact that she’d been distressed over her run-in with David Brown—and for an instant afterward, they’d connected. He’d waited in that hallway to scope out David. But he’d stayed because Rachel had needed him. She’d needed somebody. At least, he’d thought she needed a friend. And he’d been more than ready to volunteer his services.

“Josh?” A.J. snapped him out of his illicit imaginings and back to the present. “Nah. I told Ma I was at a training seminar in Jefferson City.”

“With some sweet young thing.”

“Right.”

The two men shared the hearty laughter of acquaintances becoming friends.

But A. J. Rodriguez wasn’t the best in the business for nothing. For a moment, the seasoned undercover operative with all those years of experience crept into his expression. “Be careful, Josh. This isn’t the kind of work where you can afford to lose your focus. Wherever your head was a few moments ago, don’t go there again. That’s the kind of distraction that can blow your cover and get you killed.”

An instant later, the street-savvy college kid was back in place. A.J. grinned. “Take care, man.” They touched fists in what passed for a handshake. “Call me at that number to set up a meeting tomorrow. Let me know what you find out tonight.”

“Will do.”

After A.J. left, Josh stirred his coffee again, trying not to compare its color to the rich sheen of Rachel Livesay’s hair. Avoid the distraction of the good doctor? Right. That should be easy enough to do.

All he had to do was imagine the unknown father of her child. The man who had the right to take her in his arms and comfort her.

RACHEL PULLED her bright red, rolled-brim hat down over her ears and stepped out into the cold. Though her body temperature had increased in the past few weeks of her pregnancy, she and her wool coat were still no match for the cold, whipping wind that stirred up the snow from the ground and pitched the tiny, icy flakes into her face.

After her water-aerobics workout and a dinner of salad and breadsticks from a local Italian restaurant, she headed for her brownstone condo just off the Plaza in southwest Kansas City.

But instead of turning in for a night of reading in front of the TV, she’d backed out of her doorway and retraced her steps to her car. She just couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. The sensation of unseen eyes learning which condo belonged to her. The unsettling quiet that, instead of offering respite and reassurance, taunted her with the realization that she’d be alone for the night. Completely and utterly alone.

Despite the protests of her weary body, she’d locked the door and drove back to campus. At least there she’d find plenty of people around—studying at the library, attending night classes and departmental meetings, going to play rehearsals and music practices.

But when the night janitor had checked her office to see why the light was still on, she’d joked about losing track of the time. She’d spent the evening grading makeup papers and editing her mid-term exam. But eventually, her baby’s needs spoke louder than her own misgivings. She needed to get home. Maybe splurge on cookies with her nightly glass of milk. She needed to sleep.

As busy as the campus had been at seven o’clock, by midnight the place was nearly deserted. The bitter weather had chased all but the heartiest of souls inside.

Rachel’s teeth chattered and she hugged her arms across the top of her belly, trying to retain her body heat. Snow and cold and damp air were nothing new to a Kansas City winter. They were nothing new to her. But by the time she reached the stand of streetlights bordering the faculty parking lot, she was puffing out quick, tiny clouds of air that warned her that the baby’s round head was pushing against her diaphragm and impeding her ability to breathe deeply.

The baby was also sitting on her bladder. She’d used the facilities before leaving her office, but now she felt like she had to go again! Feeling cold, feeling damp, feeling miserable, Rachel hurried her pace and cut straight across the empty parking lot toward her car.

But she pulled up short and stuttered to a stop when she saw her left rear tire. The blowing snow had drifted around the wheels, but there was no mistaking the distinct lean from the hood to the trunk.

She had a flat tire.

Rachel cradled her belly and jogged the last twenty feet. The tire was flat. Definitely flat.

At midnight. In winter. When she was bone-tired and had to pee.

“Damn.” She tipped her head to the curtain of snow swirling in the circle of light from the streetlamp overhead. “Double damn.”

Then she looked down and rubbed her tummy, apologizing for the frustrated outburst. “You didn’t hear that.”

She looked around for options, pushed back her glove and checked the time, breathed in and checked the temperature. She could phone a tow truck and pay the extra charges for a nighttime call. She’d have to walk back to the building and wait or else she’d freeze. She could call campus security to wait with her until she could leave.

Or she could handle the situation herself.

Strengthening herself with a mental resolve, she unlocked the car and tossed her bag inside. “We’re going to be on our own for a long time, sweetie,” she explained to her unborn daughter. “We might as well practice fending for ourselves now.”

But by the time she’d dug out the jack and the spare, she was breathing hard. Quick, shallow breaths in and out through her mouth. The baby kicked to protest the strenuous exercise, catching Rachel beneath a rib, forcing her to stop and clutch her side until the pain subsided.

But then she resumed her work, jacking up the car as quickly and efficiently as the numbing tips of her fingers through her gloves would allow.

She’d unloaded the jack and had the hubcap off and a couple of lug nuts loosened, before she realized she had company. Three figures, watching her from the shadows like snow wraiths. And then she understood what was really going on. An icy chill shimmied down her spine.

This wasn’t about bad luck. This was about payback.

She locked the tire iron in her fist before pushing herself to her feet and turning to face David Brown and his two thick-necked jock friends.

“Dr. Livesay.” David’s smile was anything but genuine. “Having some trouble with your car?”

Rachel was oddly strengthened by the knowledge that David felt compelled to have backup when trying to intimidate her.

“I suppose if I check the stem, I’ll find a tiny pebble wedged beneath the cap.” She’d heard of the trick to slowly release air from a tire.

“I wouldn’ know about that.” David’s cheeks were flushed pink, as if he’d just come from inside some nice warm vehicle or building. Or worse. She picked up on the slight slur in his voice. He’d been drinking.

Intoxicated meant unpredictable. Rachel was already at a disadvantage. She needed to keep her head and think more clearly than any of these boys could.

“Then, you stopped to help me change the tire?”

“Looks like you’re doin’ jus’ fine on your own.”

Rachel noticed one of the bigger youths moving toward the rear of her car. She jabbed the air with her tire iron. “Stay put. I want all three of you where I can see you.”

David gestured to his friends and himself. His lips pouted and he took on a wounded expression. “We’re not in your class anymore, Doctor. You can’t give us orders.”

She nodded to the two muscle men, Lance Arnold and Shelton Parrish. “I didn’t kick them out of class. You’re the one who stole that paper. I found an exact duplicate on the Internet.”

David’s chatty drunkenness vanished. In its place she caught a glimpse of temper flashing in his eyes, followed by cold, heartless rationality. He pointed his finger at her and advanced. “Maybe you shouldn’t be such a tough bitch.” Rachel backed up against the car, succumbing to a moment of self-preserving panic. “It’s no wonder the guy who knocked you up didn’t stick around.”

“Get away from me!” When David was within arm’s reach, Rachel jammed the tire iron in the middle of his solar plexus.

David clutched his arms across his stomach, doubled over and coughed. Rachel poked him in the chest, nudging him farther away.

“You stay away from me,” she threatened in as succinct and even a voice as she could manage. “I’m calling the police right now.”

“With what?” David’s cough turned into a laugh as he straightened.

Rachel traced his line of sight and glanced over her shoulder, beyond the roof of her car. Distracted by the vile menace of David’s advance, she hadn’t noticed Lance circle around the front of her car. Her book bag—and the cell phone she kept inside—dangled from one big, meaty fist.

Fear—more chilling than the night around her—attacked her from within, robbing Rachel of her false sense of confidence.

The diversion was the opportunity David needed. He snatched the tire iron from her grasp.

Instinctively, Rachel circled her arms around her belly, shielding the most vital part of her from any harm.

David pointed the tire iron right beneath her chin, using it as a lethal extension of his accusatory finger. “I don’t want back in your lousy class,” he said, laying down his version of the law in unmistakable terms. “I just need you to clear my record so I can stay in school.”

“That’s out of my hands, David.”

“Do it.” Cold, cold iron tapped the end of her chin and she jerked away from its frozen touch. “Do it, or you might have to face worse than a flat tire.”

A frisson of anger worked its way through the chill that rooted her in place. “How dare you threaten me. You’re the one who broke the rules. You’re the one who has to pay the consequences.”

“It’s one…stupid…paper!”

His voice flashed with anger augmented by the liquor that still coursed within him.

Oh God. Rachel shivered against the raised fender of the car, shrinking into herself. What had she done? Why had she argued? Why hadn’t she stayed home?

This morning’s cyptic note burned an incriminating hole in her pocket. Because of her stupid paranoia, she hadn’t seen the real danger headed her way. Now she’d put not just herself but her baby in danger.

“David. Please…” For her baby’s sake, she wasn’t above pleading. “Lance? Shelton…?”

“Is there a problem, Doc?”

Rachel’s heart jumped to her throat and collided with her fear. The dark, low-pitched voice had startled David, as well. It was a voice that brooked no argument, a voice that showed no fear.

It was a voice she would never forget or be able to repay.

Her knight in shining armor stepped from the shadows into the illumination from the streetlamp. Josh Tanner. With his black jacket and jeans, he’d been invisible in the shadows. She knew he was six-three or-four, and his broad shoulders required the extra space of an empty seat on either side of him in her lecture hall. But as he stepped into the light, with his feet braced for a fight, his hands hanging in loose fists at his sides, and his blue eyes dark with some unnamed emotion, he looked bigger and tougher than she’d ever seen him in class.

She hugged her stomach, keeping her baby close in her arms, half afraid to trust in the rescue he promised.

“Lose the tire iron, David,” Josh warned.

David’s gaze darted from Lance to Shelton to Josh. The look he spared Rachel was a mix of hatred and smug triumph. “There’s three of us, Tanner.” David’s challenge dangled in the cold, damp air. “And this isn’t any of your damn business.”

“I’ve made it my business,” Josh answered, unmoved by David’s bravado. “Now, are you going to leave with your face intact, or with a bloody nose? The choice is yours.”