Читать книгу Detective Daddy - Mallory Kane - Страница 10

By the time they got to the hospital, Rachel was alert and begging the EMTs to let her go home. But to Ash’s relief they didn’t pay the least bit of attention to her.

She’d only been unconscious for a few minutes, but it was long enough to scare the spit out of him. One second she’d been turning the knob on his front door and the next, she’d collapsed directly into his arms. He’d lowered her gently to the floor and made sure she was breathing, then he’d tried to wake her, but she’d been out cold.

He’d called 9–1–1 and identified himself as a detective with the Ninth District of the St. Louis Metropolitan Police Department, and ordered an ambulance.

By the time he’d hung up, Rachel had stirred. But she was nearly incoherent, so he’d made her stay on the floor and cradled her head until the EMTs got there.

Now he was pacing the waiting room floor like an expectant father as he waited for the doctor to finish examining her. They’d probably run a bunch of tests. Hell, they could be here until midnight.

A woman—who’d been sitting in the waiting room knitting ever since the nurse had deposited him in this drab little room that smelled of old coffee—looked up at him. “Your wife?” she asked.

Ash stared at her for a second, uncomprehending. “Uh, no. A coworker.”

“A coworker?” the woman said meaningfully, then she held his gaze until he relented.

“And you?”

“My son,” she said. “He came home tonight with a bloody nose. He got into a fight.”

“It’s broken? How old is he?”

She nodded with a sigh. “He’s thirteen. Old enough to know better, but not old enough to restrain himself.”

Just then a nurse appeared in the doorway. Ash and the woman both turned to her.

“Mr. Kendall?”

He stepped forward.

“Ms. Stevens is ready to go. You can follow me.”

“What happened? Is she okay?”

The nurse gave him an odd, knowing look. “I’ll let her tell you all about it.”

The nurse led him to a cubicle and slid the curtain back. “Here you go, Ms. Stevens. I’ll send the aide with the wheelchair.”

“I don’t need a wheelchair.”

The nurse looked at Ash, who nodded, then turned back to Rachel. “Oh, I think you do. We don’t want to take a chance that you might faint again.”

Ash felt a jolt of relief to see that Rachel had color in her cheeks. She looked a hundred percent better than she had when he’d brought her in.

“You look like a different person,” he said. “What did the doctor say?”

Rachel busied herself with her purse. “My blood sugar was low.”

“That’s all? You passed out because you hadn’t eaten?” Ash’s anger rose again, this time because he knew she was lying. Her answer had been too quick, too flip.

“That’s not exactly how low blood sugar works,” she retorted, “but basically, I guess you could say that.” She wouldn’t look at him, just kept rummaging in her purse until the aide came with the wheelchair.

She was definitely hiding something. A sudden thought sent a pang of fear arrowing into his gut. Was something wrong with her? Something serious? No, that wasn’t it. The nurse hadn’t seemed worried or sad. She’d seemed more—secretive, as if she knew something he didn’t know.

The aide kept up a stream of conversation, or more accurately, prattle, all the way to the emergency entrance. As the wheelchair turned the corner a few steps ahead of Ash, he heard a deep voice call Rachel’s name.

He turned the corner in time to see that the owner of the voice was in a white lab coat with a stethoscope around his neck. He was shaking Rachel’s hand.

“—and congratulations,” he said with a smile before he hurried away.

Congratulations? Why would any doctor say that to a patient?

He thought back to the nurse’s secretive look.

Oh, hell. Ash could think of only one reason for the medical staff’s reactions, and that reason sent lightning bolts of shock all the way to his toes.

There weren’t many things Ashton Kendall was afraid of. He’d discovered on that fateful Christmas Eve so long ago that life was too short to spend it in fear.

He’d transformed the grief and fear that he’d learned way too young into fierce determination. He’d turned the helplessness and anger into a hunger for justice and a career. And finally, he’d filled the empty place in his heart with a casual, carefree charm that earned him lots of dates and friends without getting him into an emotional tangle.

But he wasn’t sure if he could face what he’d just been hit with.

Was he about to become a father?

RACHEL’S HAND FELT NUMB where the doctor had shaken it, but it was not as numb as her heart. She waited without breathing to see what Ash was going to say. She knew he’d heard the doctor because she could feel his gaze boring into her back. Besides, she didn’t dare look at him. If he hadn’t already figured out what the doctor had meant by his congratulations, he’d see it written all over her face.

About that time, he walked past the wheelchair.

“I’ll get the car,” he said shortly as he stalked toward the elevators without looking back. He sounded just like he had when he’d found her asleep in his house.

Downstairs, he helped her into the car with an offhand gentleness that confused her. And he didn’t say anything on the drive back to his house, where her car was still parked in his driveway. But he kept glancing over at her, a bemused expression on his face.

Once he’d pulled to the curb and parked, he turned toward her. “I guess congratulations are in order,” he said evenly.

Here it came. Rachel bit her bottom lip and stared at her hands, which were clasped in her lap. His words hovered in the air, demanding an explanation.

“So that’s why you fainted?” he went on. “You’re pregnant.” His voice sounded strained. “Why did you think you had to lie to me about the low blood sugar?”

She squeezed her interlaced fingers together. “It wasn’t a lie exactly. I’ve always had problems with low blood sugar.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. He just looked at her. “So how far along are you?”

Her head snapped up. “Checking the time frame?” she asked bitterly.

He shrugged and dropped his gaze. His jaw quivered with tension.

“I’m eight weeks pregnant. My ob-gyn told me I probably conceived around the last week in July. His guess is July 22.” She threw the date down as a challenge and waited to see what Ash said.

He knew as well as she did the exact date he’d broached the subject of seeing other people. She’d never been a maudlin person, but that date was branded on her brain. It had been Saturday, August 7, two weeks after their honeymoon-like trip to New Orleans. He’d couched the conversation in terms of friends talking about what they had planned for the fall, but Rachel had recognized it for what it was—the casual, charming brush-off. It had been nine days later when she’d realized she was pregnant.

Now she met his gaze. “But in case you’re wondering, I didn’t rush out and find myself a new man the next day. In fact, I haven’t found one at all.”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“Look, Ash, I have no intention of making demands on you. I’m choosing to have this baby and it’s my decision and mine alone. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Listen to me. If it’s my baby, then I will take responsibility for it.”

Rachel didn’t hear what he said after the word if. She stiffened. “If?” she repeated. “If? You don’t believe me?” There came the tears, clawing their way up from her throat. She swallowed hard. “Well, that makes all of this easier.”

She opened the passenger door and got out. She felt Ash’s hand brush her elbow.

“Rach, wait. Of course I believe—”

But she kept going. Right to her car. She climbed in, started the engine and backed out of the driveway. When she turned the corner, heading toward her own apartment, Ash was still sitting in his car at the curb.

ASH DOUBLED HIS FIST and took a swing at the steering wheel. His hand stung, but luckily, his car was sturdy enough to withstand the blow.

Idiot! How in hell had he let Rachel get pregnant? Of course before the question even formed, he knew the answer. He remembered it as if it were yesterday. Friday, July 22. They’d flown down to New Orleans for the weekend. They’d had a couple of Hurricanes, the deceptively sweet drink so popular on Bourbon Street. They’d gone back to the hotel and made love—a lot.

When Ash had woken up the next morning, he’d vaguely remembered rolling over deep in the night and coaxing Rachel awake. They’d done it two more times. It had been spontaneous and satisfying and—he now knew for sure—without benefit of protection.

He cranked the car and drove to the mansion, bypassing it and heading straight for the guesthouse, where Natalie lived. On the way he called her and asked if she was decent.

Natalie had on a black T-shirt and drawstring pants with red chili peppers on them. She’d twisted up her long blond hair into a knot.

He kissed the top of her head as he stepped inside. “How’re you doing?” he asked.

She preceded him into her small living room and flopped onto her couch, her legs crossed beneath her. She was drinking something red.

“Cranberry juice,” she said. “Want some?”

He shook his head and sat in a chair next to the couch.

“I’m doing okay, Ash. Better than I thought I would be.”

He assessed her. “You sure, squirt? Because you look tired.”

“Thanks.” She laughed. “I didn’t sleep well last night. My brain wouldn’t stop whirling.”

“I know what you mean. Our brains were probably whirling in unison. Bad dreams?”

Natalie looked down at the glass in her hand. “No. Not really. Just couldn’t get to sleep.”

“Have you thought any more about seeing the company psychiatrist?”

Natalie’s pleasant expression darkened. “I really wish you’d drop that idea,” she said. “I am fine. If you just came over here to bully me, you can show yourself out.”

“Apparently this is the week for surprises. I got some weird news tonight.”

“Weird? What do you mean, weird?”

He took a deep breath, opened his mouth and closed it again.

Natalie watched him, a small frown wrinkling her forehead. “Okay, Ashton, spit it out,” she snapped—her version of encouraging and sympathetic.

He smiled wryly. “Rachel—Rachel Stevens—is pregnant.”

To his surprise, Natalie’s mouth didn’t drop open in shock. In fact, while her expression at first reflected surprise, it morphed quickly to thoughtfulness to what he could only describe as sheer joy.

“Wow!” she exclaimed. “My first niece—or nephew. Good job!” She leaned forward, her right hand in the air. Did she really think he felt like high-fiving her over this?

He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Nat—”

She pulled back her hand but her enthusiasm didn’t dampen. “This is the best news I’ve heard in a while. I’m going to be an aunt!”

He scowled at her.

“And look,” she said, gesturing at him. “Talk about irony. The Kendall playboy is the first to fall. Congrats! Have you told Dev or Aunt Angela?”

“Nat, stop it! This is not something I want to tell anybody. For sure not Aunt Angie. It is not a good thing. Be serious, would you?”

Natalie beamed at him. “I am being serious. This is seriously fabulous news. Are you getting married right away?”

“No!”

When he saw the shock on Natalie’s face, he realized how loud and sharp his answer had been. “I’m sorry, but I just found out not even an hour ago, and I’m not sure what I’m going to do about it.”

“Do about it? You think you’re going to do something about it? Unless by do something you mean ask Rachel to marry you and buy a house and get ready to be a husband and a father, I can tell you right now, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Ash leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees and running his fingers through his hair. He sat there, palms cradling his head. “Tell me about it. But, Nat, I have never been careless. Ever.”

Natalie frowned at him, her head cocked to one side. “Come on, Ash. Haven’t we had this conversation? Not even condoms are one-hundred-percent effective.”

He stared at her. “I know that, but—”

For a short moment, Natalie held his gaze. Then she stood. “But what? Do you think the baby’s not yours?”

He blew out a breath between his teeth. “Oh, I know it’s mine. Rachel wouldn’t lie. Plus, I know exactly when it happened.”

“Great. So when are you two—you three—getting married?” Natalie grinned at him.

Ash sat up, rubbed the spot on his chest where the hollow feeling resided. He clamped his jaw and forced his mind away from the confusing question of how he felt about Rachel.

“There’s another issue,” he muttered. He wiped his face and looked up at her. “Rachel’s the one who ran the DNA.”

Natalie looked puzzled. “The baby’s DNA?”

“No, no,” he said, leaning forward and again propping his elbows on his knees. “She’s the one who ran the samples from the murders against Campbell’s DNA.”

Natalie’s initial reaction was shock. The color drained from her face. She was quiet for a second, staring past him at nothing in particular. Then her gaze returned to his. “That’s her job, isn’t it? I mean, doesn’t she run all the DNA tests? Did she know whose it was?”

“She says no. She says the paperwork that came with the samples was redacted. But she should have known. It’s not like St. Louis has had that many double murders.”

“Well, that’s true. Wow.” Natalie was quiet for another moment. Then she leaned forward. “She didn’t say anything about the results, did she?”

“Nope. Not a word.” Ash studied his younger sister. “I’m sorry, Nat. I didn’t want to upset you, but I thought you should know. I know you like Rachel.”

“I do. Better than most of the women you’ve dated. She’s a really good person. All that and gorgeous, too. Your baby is going to be a knockout.”

Ash groaned.

Natalie drank the rest of her juice and headed toward the kitchen. At the door she turned around, frowning and rubbing her forehead. “What’s really bothering you, Ash? From what I know of Rachel, she’s honest and kind and good at her job. I don’t know a lot about DNA, but from what I understand, it’s pretty specific. Either the DNA is Rick Campbell’s or it isn’t.”

She set down her glass, propped her fists on her hips and cocked her head. “You have no idea what’s wrong with you, do you?”

Ash spread his hands. “With me? What are you talking about?”

She stalked over to stand directly in front of him. “Come on, Ashton. It’s so obvious. Ash Kendall—Ashanova—” she held up her hands as if displaying headlines “—finally hoisted by his own petard.”

He stood, shaking his head and digging his car keys from his pocket. “You’re not making any sense. I’d better go. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Liar. You wanted me to tell you that everything is all Rachel’s fault. Well, I won’t. You can’t turn and walk away from her like you have every other woman you’ve dated.”

“I’m not planning to. I’ll provide for the baby.”

Natalie poked a finger into the middle of his chest. “You’ll do more than that. You might as well accept it. Rachel’s different, and not because of the baby. You’re in love with her. Everybody knows it. We’ve just been waiting for you to figure it out.”

“You’re nuts,” he said with a laugh that sounded more like a cough. “I’m not in love with her, and you’d better not say a word about this to anyone, especially not Aunt Angie and Uncle Craig. They’re upset enough as it is.”

“I won’t.”

“Swear?”

Natalie held up her right hand. “Swear. It’s going to be fun to watch you squirm. Because sooner or later it’s going to dawn on you that you haven’t stopped thinking about Rachel since the moment you first noticed her.”

Ash ignored her and headed for the door. He turned back. “Nat, you’re sure you’re all right?”

She nodded and smiled. “I’m fine. Thanks for taking care of me. Ash?”

“Yeah?”

“What happens now?”

He wasn’t sure which shocking event she was talking about—Rachel’s pregnancy or the reanalysis of the DNA.

“I mean, if Rick Campbell didn’t do it.”

He shrugged and let out a long breath. “Then I guess I’m going to have to find the man who did kill our parents.”