Читать книгу Daddy With A Badge - Paula Riggs Detmer - Страница 11

“Danni, answer me, damn it! Are you all right?”

On her knees with her head over the toilet, Danni was too busy being miserably sick to reply. When the spasm passed, she grabbed a wad of toilet paper and wiped her mouth with a shaky hand. In recent weeks she had discovered a basic truth—morning sickness was definitely not for the fainthearted.

It was also, unfortunately, not confined to the morning.

“Danni!”

“I’m fine,” she croaked.

“You don’t sound fine,” Rafe declared in a dangerous tone.

“You’ll just have to take my word for it!” Too weak to move just yet, she sat down on the hard tile, and rested her head on her bent knees. The dizziness ebbed, only to be replaced by a growing clamminess that had her feeling hot on the inside and cold on the outside. She moaned, closed her eyes.

Obviously a man determined to have his own way, he rattled the knob. “Unlock the door, Daniela, or I swear I’ll kick it in.”

“Will you please go away?” she grated impatiently. “I’m being revoltingly sick in here, and I don’t need an audience.”

He greeted that with an ominous silence that lasted for several beats before he muttered a curse in Spanish that had her wincing. “Ten more minutes, and then I’m coming in to make sure you’re all right.”

Since she’d never known Rafe to make a threat he wasn’t willing to carry out, she took a deep breath, then opened her eyes and pushed herself to her feet. Her head swam and bile surged to her throat. Her knees wanted to buckle.

I embrace perfect health and emotional serenity, she chanted silently. I am strong and capable and confident.

I am woman. Hear me roar.

She groaned silently. At the moment a newborn kitten had a louder roar.

Locking her knees, she forced her head up and opened her eyes. The wan face in the mirror staring back at her with hollow eyes was enough to make her queasy all over again.

After turning on the cold tap she grabbed a facecloth from the rod and bathed the hot skin until it started to tingle. She brushed her teeth until her gums felt raw, then ran her fingers through her lifeless hair and pinched color into her pale cheeks.

Oh God, could she really have married a killer?

Her lungs suddenly felt thick and sluggish, making it difficult to draw breath. How could she not have seen the violence in him? How could she not have felt it when he’d touched her? How could she know with any certainty that her judgment during therapy sessions was any sounder?

Dear heavens, what if her patients found out? How could they trust her? A humorless laugh ran through her mind. If her patients found out, she wouldn’t have any patients.

Another thought rose, even more terrifying. Starved for a father’s love, Lyssa had bonded with her new stepfather within only a few weeks. At the time she’d been touched by how sweet Jonathan had been with her. Now she knew it had all been part of his sick game.

She drew a shaky breath and tried not to think about the images that Rafe’s words had painted. What was it Harry Truman had said? Fatigue makes cowards of us all.

As soon as Rafe finished with his questions and left her in peace again, she would take a couple of Tylenol tablets and climb into bed. Lyssa wasn’t due home until some time tomorrow afternoon, which meant she could sleep in for once.

After that…well, she would deal with the rest later. And deal she would, she vowed with more bluff than conviction. Daniela Mancini Fabrizio was no quitter. For good measure she patted the tiny cherub who was destined to come into the world without a father’s love.

Don’t worry, little dumpling. Mama intends to smother you with so much love you won’t mind growing up without a daddy. One particular daddy, anyway.

Her jaw tightened as she thought about the legal steps she would need to take to ensure Jonathan Sommerset or Jacob Folsom or whatever he called himself would never ever have access to her child. No matter what, she intended to make sure that he never had a chance to hurt her babies again.

Determined to get past this without making it any worse than it already was, Rafe stationed himself at the end of the hall, far enough to give her privacy, but with a clear view of the door.

As he anchored himself against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, he was so tense his muscles felt hot. As soon as he’d seen her, he’d been all stirred up inside. When he’d carried her up the walk it had brought it all back—the smell of her skin, the taste of her lips, the way she felt in his arms that night as he’d carried her from the pond to the soft grass beneath the long sheltering branches of a weeping willow.

Her skin had been translucent in the moonlight, her body as smooth as marble, her nipples dark and puckered, ripe little buds he’d been desperate to taste. He hadn’t intended to do more than pet her into opening her mouth for him to explore, but when she turned wild in his arms, he’d forgotten everything but the hot pulsing need between his thighs.

Oh, he tried to play it cool. What self-respecting seventeen-year-old male would willingly admit he’d never been with a woman before? Especially one who’d been spoon-fed machismo along with his rice and beans. But inside, he’d been terrified. What if he hurt her? What if he was too clumsy to make it good for her?

As soon as he’d touched her, he’d been lost. Nothing had been more important than exploring every inch of that amazing body. His own had been so hard he’d been in real pain. When she’d touched him with those curious little hands, he’d nearly exploded.

He’d wanted to be inside her desperately, so desperately he’d ached. In the end it had been his respect for his parents and her father that had him jerking back an instant before he’d breached her maidenhead. He’d often wondered if Fabrizio had appreciated his sacrifice.

Danni sure as hell hadn’t.

His heart raced as unwanted feelings crowded him hard. She’d been half-wild with hurt pride as she’d hastily pulled on her suit. No one had ever said no to Daniela Mancini on her father’s land. Especially the bastard son of a Mexican field hand.

Nothing he said could soothe her. Still, in his halting way, he’d tried, pouring out his deepest feelings in a jumble of English and Spanish. All it had gotten him, however, was a slap in the face and a blast of that fine Italian temper.

After she’d stormed back inside the big house on the hill, he’d prowled the vineyards like one of the mountain cougars who inhabited the hills above the vines, walking for miles until his muscles burned and his mind blurred. Maybe that was why he’d simply stood there when Eddie and the others had come at him a little before dawn.

Mark had been leaving after visiting Danni’s brother Vito and had seen them by the pond. Rafe had tried to tell them that he loved her. That he wanted to marry her. He hadn’t gotten out more than a few words before Eddie had smashed his fist into his face, catching him by surprise and breaking his nose. He’d fought, but Ed’s brothers, Vito and Benito, had held his arms while the two older guys had taken turns hitting him.

Stronger than most, even as a kid, he could take a lot of punishment without going down. Consequently, he’d been in bad shape by the time he’d finally passed out. When he’d come to a few minutes later, his face sticky with blood and every breath an agony, Eddie had laid it out for him, all neat and tidy. He was to leave town that very morning, on the first bus out of Ashland and never come back. He wasn’t to see or contact Danni ever again. If he didn’t agree to those conditions, Ed would see that his father was fired from his job as vineyard foreman and kicked off Mancini land without a recommendation.

At twenty-four, Ed was already his father’s right-hand man. Both of them knew he could do exactly as he promised. Both of them knew, too, that good jobs for a semi-illiterate Mexican-American day laborer with five young kids were hard to come by.

Spitting blood and with fury burning in his gut, Rafe had threatened to go to Ed’s father. El Jefe was a fair man, a decent man. He’d even offered to send Rafe to trade school to learn auto mechanics so that he could go to work maintaining the vineyard vehicles.

He would never forget the satisfaction in Fabrizio’s eyes. Who do you think sent us out here? he’d said with a smirk. Even gave us money for your fare.

Years later, Rafe had been able to see the logic in it. Eduardo Mancini wasn’t a cruel man, simply a practical one. Danni was his only daughter. In the way of his father and his father’s father, he had promised her to the eldest son of his best friend and rival vintner, Tonio Fabrizio. No mongrel with unknown parentage and few prospects would be allowed to threaten the dynasty he and Tonio Fabrizio had so carefully planned.

Rafe had known then what it was to hate.

Like everyone else in the valley El Jefe knew exactly how much Rafe owed to the Cardozas. His birth mother had been a fifteen-year-old druggie from California, who, with some guy she’d met in a truck stop, had stopped over to pick grapes for traveling money. One night during a spring storm the girl had given birth in one of the horse stalls, then split, leaving her hours’ old son wrapped in a flea-infested scrap of blanket.

At the time Rosaria Cardoza had given birth to stillborn son only days earlier and still had milk. It was natural for her to take the baby. El Jefe had paid the attorney who’d arranged for Enrique and Rosaria to adopt him as their own.

Rafe had known from early on that he’d been adopted. How could he not know, a green-eyed blonde in a family of dark-eyed, dark-haired Latinos?

He’d been eleven when one of the other workers had gotten drunk and taunted him with the details of his birth. Rosaria had managed to soothe his hurt, but after that, pride had driven him to be the best at anything he tried.

As the eldest he’d always felt a responsibility to take care of the little ones. Maybe because he’d been adopted, he’d felt that responsibility more deeply than most.

After all that Enrique and Rosaria had done for him, he’d had no choice. So he’d swallowed the hate, along with his pride, taken the money and left. His face had been raw from the fresh bruises, and one eye had been swollen completely shut. Every time he’d moved, the splintered ends of his ribs ground together and breathing was agony. But he’d been determined to walk to the bus with his head high and his back straight.

With sweat pouring down his face and his stomach cramping with nausea, he’d finally made it on to the bus without passing out. He’d gotten as far as San Francisco before the pain of sitting for hours sent him in search of a bed. For a week he stayed holed up in a seedy hotel in the Tenderloin, living on junk food and aspirin while his body healed.

On the first day he was able to take a deep breath without passing out, he’d taken a cab to the nearest Army recruiter and enlisted. He’d been in boot camp when Danni graduated from high school, in Beirut when she’d graduated from Oregon State, slogging his way through the Treasury’s own version of boot camp when she’d married Fabrizio. By the time her daughter had been born, he was no longer in love with the princess of Mancini Vineyards.

“Guess she’s still puking her guts out, huh?” Gresham commented as he wandered into the hall from the living room, a fresh cup of coffee in his hand. Even though he’d removed his suit coat and loosened his tie, he still looked like a damn ad for twelve-year-old scotch.

Rafe shot him a sour look. “You learn how to talk that way at Dartmouth, did you?”

“Nah, that came straight from summer camp. Guys in my cabin took turns grossing each other out. I took grand champion three years running.” Looking smugly pleased with himself, Gresham propped a shoulder against the opposite wall and sipped.

Still on the sunny side of thirty, with a trust fund in seven figures and serious political clout, Seth Aaron Gresham IV had the same lack of respect for rank that had caused Rafe no end of grief in his first few shaky years—until Linc Slocum had kicked his butt. For his sins—and according to Linc, they were legend—the suits in the big building had tasked him with whipping this particular high profile, gung-ho youngster into shape.

It was almost enough to drive a teetotaler like himself to drink, Rafe thought, corralling his chronic restlessness with more difficulty than usual.

“Question comes to mind why a guy famous for never losing his cool looks ready to explode because one pretty little woman has locked herself in the can.”

Rafe shot him a sour look “You ever been around a pregnant woman?”

“Not my bag, actually. In fact, I tend to break out in a sweat the minute a woman gets that nesting gleam in her eyes.”

Rafe checked his watch. Her ten minutes were nearly up. “I was six when my mom had my oldest brother. Mostly I remember feeling scared for nine months ’cause she was either hanging over the toilet or bursting into tears.”

Seth took a sip, flexed his shoulders. “Guess I should be grateful I’m the last of three. Came along when my sister was almost nine.”

Probably never slept three in a bed with at least one brother who peed the bed either. “Important thing to remember, a pregnant woman needs special handling. Last thing we need is a witness who falls apart on the stand. Tends to make juries do unpredictable things.”

Provided they had a defendant and a solid enough case to take in front of a jury.

“Dr. Fabrizio seems pretty darn stable to me. Took the worst a lot calmer than most.”

Rafe snorted. “Oh yeah, that sprint to the can looked real calm.”

Gresham offered a reluctant grin. “She did look a little green at that.” His grin changed to a frown. “Morning sickness, right?”

“Probably.”

On the other hand he’d also seen burly, hard-eyed men toss their cookies after an emotional hit like the one he’d just given her. Laying it on her cold had been a tactical error, he realized now. Guilt bunched into a sick ball in his belly. Much as he hated to admit it, he had a strong feeling he’d rushed things because he wanted to spend as little time as possible in her presence.

“What now?” Gresham asked.

“We ask our questions, give her a list of contact numbers, and catch the red-eye back to D.C.”

Gresham started to say more, but the sudden click of the bathroom lock had his gaze slicing toward the door. As she emerged and walked toward him, Danni gave them a quick smile designed to reassure. Instead, Rafe felt a jolt of alarm. Instead of queasy, she now looked truly ill. Her lips were pale, her hair damp around her face, and her eyes seemed glazed.

“Sorry about that.” Despite her wan appearance, her tone was brisk, one professional to another. He recognized her need to retain her dignity at all costs.

“No problem.” Rafe straightened and dropped his arms. Without the power suit and fancy high heels she seemed more like the mischievous hoyden with the metal grin and bubbling laugh who’d stolen his heart years before she’d blossomed into a beauty.

“Feel better now?” Gresham asked while watching her warily, as though expecting her to upchuck onto his shiny hand-sown Italian loafers.

Her too-pale lips curved. “Fine. I appreciate you being so patient.”

Oh yeah, she was fine all right, Rafe thought, narrowing his gaze. If fine meant looking wrung-out and hollow-eyed. Despite her bedraggled appearance, however, she still managed to project enough sex appeal to have him shoring up walls he’d once considered impenetrable.

“Aren’t you too far along to still be having morning sickness?” he asked more curtly than he’d intended.

“Actually morning is the only time I don’t get queasy.” She forced a laugh. “Luke says it’s not all that unusual for a woman to have morning sickness through the second trimester.”

In a deliberate effort to reassure her he broke his own rule and combined the personal with the professional “You probably don’t remember, but Mom had to be hospitalized for dehydration while she was carrying Carlos.”

Her mouth turned up at the corners. Damn, but she still had the most kissable lips he’d ever seen. “Actually I do remember, but only because while she was gone, I had to fix dinner three nights in a row before Papa got fed up with canned soup and grilled cheese sandwiches and took us all out to Napoli Gardens.”

“Canned soup and grilled cheese would have been a treat compared to the stuff I managed to throw together for the kids and me while she was gone,” he said with a smile of his own. “I still hate rice and beans.”

Her eyes twinkled, and he grieved for that besotted boy who’d believed in fairy-tale endings. “Don’t tell Aunt Gina, but I feel the same about red sauce.”

“Since your aunt Gina would sooner refuse an audience with the Pope than spend even a moment in my presence, I think your secret is safe.”

Her expression sobered. “She meant well, Rafe. From her point of view I had been promised to Mark in my cradle and my…infatuation with you frightened her.”

Emotions he neither welcomed nor completely understood swam through him. It was tougher than he’d expected, hanging on to even the most justified resentments when the woman in front of him was looking more fragile with every breath she took.

“Come on, let’s get some food in you before we get to those questions you promised to answer.” He tucked his hand into the small of her back and started to guide her toward the living room. She took a few steps, and then faltered.

“Danni?”

She turned her head up to look at him, and her fingers closed over his arm, her nails digging in. She licked her lips, then took a shaky breath. As he looked down at her, her sloe-dark eyes glazed over, and her lashes fluttered like little dark brushes.

Alarm jolted through him as he curled one arm around her back. Bad guys he could handle. Even lousy memories that made him bleed inside were manageable, but a pregnant woman clutching him as though her very life depended on hanging on tight had him going ice-cold with panic. “Danni, talk to me,” he demanded. Pleaded. “Is it the baby? Are you in pain?”

“No pain. It’s just…I’m…sorry, Rafe, but I’m terribly afraid I’m going to…uh…I think…oh, hell.” And then, just like that she crumpled against him like a limp, sad-faced rag doll.

His heart slamming with more than simple panic, Rafe scooped her into his arms and felt her settle bonelessly against him. Her cheek was pressed against his chest, her lashes resting on her cheeks and her mouth softly parted as though in a sigh, giving her a poignantly vulnerable look that pushed a lot of buttons he’d thought he’d disconnected long ago.

“Damn, this is turning into a disaster,” he muttered, tightening his grip.

“Worse,” Gresham replied, looking far from composed. “What do you think? 911?”

God! “Yeah.”

“Phone’s in my jacket,” Seth said before hurrying into the living room. Rafe followed at a more careful pace.

“Hold off a minute,” he ordered as Seth flipped open his cell phone. He figured five to ten minutes for 911 to respond versus a quick trip across the street to fetch her own doctor. He ran their recent conversation through his mind, sifting for the name. “She said her doctor lived across the street, right?”

Seth shot a fast look toward the window facing the side street. “Yeah, she did say that. Almost seems like Fate.”

Rafe dismissed that with a scowl. “Jarrod, I think she said his name was. He’d be the best one to see to her if he’s home. If not, then we’ll go with 911.”

Luke Jarrod had been a physician long enough to recognize panic when it flashed in a man’s eyes—even a buttoned-up government type carrying a badge and an official looking ID.

He’d been settled deep in the ancient recliner Maddy considered mud ugly but grudgingly permitted house room, with his sleeping son curled like an exhausted angel in his lap, watching the Mariners play the Yankees when the guy had rung the bell.

While the agent paced the front walk, he’d tucked Ollie into his crib, kissed his sleeping wife on her cheek, and then because he never forgot to be grateful she was in his life again, kissed her one more time before collecting his bag from the closet shelf and hauled ass.

Knowing his Maddy girl the way he did, it was a pretty good bet she’d be spitting cat furious when she found out he hadn’t roused her to help out a fellow member of the Mommy Brigade. He hated it when he had to play the tough guy, but he’d deal with it.

After nursing a cranky two-year-old through his first bout of the flu, she’d come down with it herself. The worst was over, but both needed their rest, and he was just the man to see they got it.

A sliver of lingering blue sky rode over the growing twilight to the west as he cut across Morgan’s prized lawn, the preppy agent with the Yankee blue-blood name a half-stride behind. The guy’s ID looked genuine, but what did he know about government agencies? Now, the nine-millimeter pistol he’d seen when the guy’s coat flapped open, that was about as real as real got these days.

Not a suspicious man by nature, Luke had become intensely protective of Danni and her daughter. The other guys of the Row felt the same way. Though no one said the words out loud, each was privately hoping he’d be the first one to lay eyes on that bastard Sommerset if he dared show his face.

As soon as he got her checked out, he intended to give Case a quick call and ask him to use his cop’s connections to find out what was going on. Right now, though, Danni needed his professional expertise more than she needed a surrogate big brother.

By the time Luke bounded up the front steps of the Paxton place, he’d run through everything he had retained from the notes he’d taken during Danni’s last few visits.

Nineteen weeks gestation, no abnormalities, good fetal heart sounds, due for an ultrasound on her next visit. Other than frequent bouts of morning sickness, it had been a routine pregnancy.

“Door’s unlocked, Doc,” Gresham said quickly, but Luke had already shoved it open.

Inside, a tall, superbly built man in his late thirties, early forties stood guard over the sofa where Danni lay unmoving. As Luke had entered, one large hand had gone instinctively to the weapon riding on his hip before his piercing green eyes had spied the medical bag.

“Dr. Jarrod?”

Luke was neither surprised nor intimidated by the brusque tone. A man accustomed to command was a controlled man, and a controlled man was a useful ally if things turned sour.

“I’m Jarrod,” he said, clipping his own words. “Who are you?”

“Rafael Cardoza.”

Neither wasted time on a handshake.

“What have you done for her so far?”

Guarded green eyes cut back to the sofa. “Nothing other than the cold compress on her head.”

“Did she complain of pain in her head?” Luke asked quickly.

“No, she just said she was feeling woozy, then went out fast.” He flicked a glance toward his partner who confirmed his account.

“She did look a little green before the lights went out.”

“Is it serious, do you think?” Agent Cardoza asked tersely.

“Too soon to tell.” Luke set his bag on the coffee table, then went into the kitchen to wash his hands.

“She spent a lot of time in the can throwing up,” Cardoza told him when he returned. “Wouldn’t let me in to check on her.”

“Any idea when she ate last?”

“No. She had some tea.” His gaze touched the mug on the coffee table.

As Luke listened to Danni’s heart, he felt those eyes boring into his back. “Has she showed signs of coming around?” he asked as he slipped the stethoscope beneath her shirt to listen to the baby’s heart.

“Her lashes fluttered and she moved some when I put her down. Since then, nothing.”

Danni’s heart rate was steady and strong, but faster than he would have liked. The baby’s rate, though, was smack in the safe range. He checked her pupils, then reached into his bag for the electronic thermometer that was God’s gift to overworked doctors and nurses.

He frowned at the read-out—101.6.

Mentally reviewing his findings, he returned the thermometer to his bag, then turned to face the silent agent. “Give me a rundown on what was going on before she passed out.”

With an economy of words that Luke appreciated, the agent systematically chronicled the events leading to Danni’s collapse. “Since she hadn’t complained of pain and didn’t seem to be having contractions or hemorrhaging, I figured she’d rather have you look her over.”

The reasoning was flawless—and surprisingly intuitive. Either the man had medical training or he had more than a nodding familiarity with expectant moms. “Do you have children of your own, Agent?” he probed.

“No children, but I helped raise my five brothers and sisters.”

“I figured you must have had some experience with pregnant ladies.”

Cardoza smiled briefly. “Just my mother. Probably forgot more than I remember, though.”

“Remembered enough to check for serious problems, which is the important thing.” Luke knelt again and touched Danni’s cheek.

“Danni, can you hear me? It’s Luke.”

She frowned, then licked her lips. “Mmm.”

“Danni, open your eyes, okay?” He took her hand and rubbed her wrist.

“What’s wrong with her?” Cardoza demanded, his voice gruff.

“Flu, combined with overwork, I suspect.”

“Is it serious?”

“Can be, if it leads to complications. Danni’s basically healthy, but stress can wear down even the healthiest person.” Reluctantly, he dug into his bag for an ampoule of ammonium carbonate.

Instantly, Cardoza went on alert. “What’s that?”

“Smelling salts,” he said as he broke it open. As soon as he waved it under Danni’s nose, she screwed her face into a knot and jerked her head to the side. Her lashes fluttered, then lifted.

“Luke?” she asked drowsily. “What…is it the baby? Oh my God—”

Luke rested a hand on her shoulder. “Easy, Danni,” he said in a soothing tone. “The baby’s fine. You just fainted, that’s all.”

Still disoriented, she lifted a curious hand to her forehead and frowned when her fingers encountered the folded dish-towel. “What’s this for?”

“That stubborn head of yours,” Luke said, his voice as stern as he could make it which, he had to admit, bordered on scary when he really concentrated.

Annoyed at the rebuke, Danni turned her head too fast and cried out at the sharp biting pain behind her eyes.

“Headache?” Luke asked gently.

She wanted to deny it, but the look in his eyes told her it would be a waste of time. “Like alligator teeth gnawing at my brain,” she admitted wearily.

Luke studied her with sympathetic eyes. “How about chills? Muscle aches? Nausea?”

“All of the above.” Damn, damn, damn. “It’s the same thing Maddy had, isn’t it?”

“Sounds like it, yeah.”

Danni didn’t even have the energy to produce a decent groan. She lifted the towel that was as hot as she was and handed it to Luke. As she did, her gaze fell on Rafe who was standing with his legs planted wide and his hands splayed on his lean hips, watching her impassively. It was a typical Rafe stance, she realized with a nearly unbearable feeling of nostalgia.