The Once and Future Father

“Chambers said he thought he saw someone he recalled seeing on a poster going in this morning, but he’s not sure,” Watley remarked. Dumping out the puzzle’s pieces on the table, Watley smiled to himself. “I think it’s just wishful thinking on his part, but we sent a copy of the photo he took to the feds for positive ID.”

“And?”

Watley shook his head. “Nothing yet.”

Dylan blew out a breath. “And the wheels of justice turn slowly.” He took another swig from his coffee before setting the cup down in disgust. It hardly met his criteria for coffee beyond being liquid. Restless, he ran his hand along the back of his neck and told himself to calm down. “Doesn’t matter, we’re not going anywhere.” Watley groaned his agreement.

Dylan wished he had a cigarette.

Dylan pulled up the hand brake on his beat-up sports car. He’d bought it with the first money he’d earned the day before he left home. It still ran well. A single turn of his key cut off the engine and the low murmur of music that had been playing on the radio.

He sat in the stilled vehicle, looking at the back entrance to Harris Memorial and wondering if he’d lost his mind.

Getting off work half an hour ago, he’d had every intention of picking up some takeout at the new Thai restaurant near the stakeout and heading straight back to the place where he slept and ate when he wasn’t on the job. It wasn’t really home, but it served in lieu of one. Dylan hadn’t thought of a place as being home since his mother had died.

But instead of doing that, somehow, he’d ended up here instead, with no takeout sitting on the seat beside him and no claim to sanity even remotely in the vicinity. The smart thing, he knew, was to send either Alexander or Hathaway here. They were the ones handling the case, not him.

He frowned, absently watching a couple rush through the electronic doors.

Lucy didn’t need to see him again, it’d only upset her. And he sure as hell didn’t need to see her again.

Dylan began to turn the key in the ignition, then stopped, silently cursing himself. He couldn’t do it. There was a sense of right and wrong instilled in him, the one thing his mother managed to accomplish with her rebellious son.

He dragged his hand through his hair. It was his mother’s fault that he was here.

And his father’s fault that he shouldn’t be.

C’mon, fish or cut bait, McMorrow.

Biting off another curse, Dylan got out of his car and slammed the door shut behind him. Might as well get this over with, he thought.

As he strode almost militantly toward the bank of elevators located in the rear of the building, the hospital’s small gift shop still managed to catch his eye. The little teddy bear with a jaunty pink bow over one ear in the center of the window display all but popped out at him. Stopping in midstride, he went in before he changed his mind.

The shop, with its cheerful clutter, was empty except for one other customer who was browsing on the opposite side.

“How much for the bear in the window?” Dylan asked.

His question, snapped out the way it was, startled the mature-looking, pink-smocked woman behind the counter. As she looked up, her features softened into a grandmotherly smile. “Twelve ninety-five.”

Dylan dug into his front pocket. The wad of bills that comprised change from the twenty he’d given the cashier at the coffee shop earlier tumbled out onto the counter. He isolated the proper amount.

“I’ll take it.”

“And anything for the mother?”

Head snapping up, he looked at the woman sharply. “What makes you think…?”

The beatific smile was understanding. “You have that harried, new-father look about you.”

The hell he did. The woman was probably just trying to push merchandise. Almost against his will, he saw the light blue negligee that hung just behind the woman on another display against the back wall. For a fleeting, insane moment, he was tempted. But then good sense returned.

“Just the bear.”

“Fine.” The woman accepted the money he handed her. “I’ll ring it up for you. Would you like it wrapped?”

“The baby’s only a few hours old, she wouldn’t be able to unwrap anything,” he answered stoically.

“Perhaps her mother—”

“No.”

The woman inclined her head good-naturedly. “Very well, sir.”

Three minutes later, Dylan was jabbing the up button at the elevator bank. When two elevators arrived at the same time, he chose the empty one, then pressed five. The steel doors closed, locking him in.

He had no idea what he’d say to Lucy.

Part of him hoped that she was asleep, that he could just place the teddy bear on some available surface in her room and retreat, saying he’d done his duty.

Getting off the elevator when it stopped on Lucy’s floor, he made his way to her room. He should let someone else explain the cold details to her, he thought. It’d been a mistake to think he could handle it better than Alexander or Hathaway. A mistake to think that he could handle seeing her again. He made a left at the nurse’s station. Coming back into her life, even for a few minutes, had been nothing short of disastrous.

That was why he’d left to begin with, to spare them both this kind of thing. No, he amended, grappling with an annoyance he couldn’t quite trace to its roots, it’d been to spare her, not himself.

Nothing was going to spare him.

Arriving at her room, he eased the door open and peered in. Just as he’d hoped, she was asleep. Very softly, he entered the room, then slowly closed the door behind him.

For a second, Dylan stood there, just looking at Lucy. At the woman he’d once, fleetingly, thought of as his salvation. But he’d only been deluding himself. She deserved better than the future he could give her.

The late-afternoon sun illuminated the room, bathing everything it touched in shades of gold and whispering along her face and arms. The way his hand once had. She looked like the princess in that story his mother had told him years ago, when he’d been young and the world still held promise. The one where the princess slept in the glass casket, waiting to be woken up by her true love’s first kiss.

It wouldn’t be him she’d be waiting for, he thought.

As quietly as possible, he tiptoed over to the bed and placed the teddy bear on the table that was pushed over just to the side. Because he was in a hurry, his hand wasn’t quite steady. As he took a step back, the bear toppled silently from the table, falling to the floor.

It figured. Dylan bent down quickly to retrieve it before Lucy woke up.

“Why don’t you just hand it to me?”

Her voice, soft, filled with the last remnants of sleep, surrounded him. Their eyes met as he rose again. Unaccountably, he felt like a kid caught with his hand in a cookie jar.

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

“I wasn’t asleep.” With a hand digging into the mattress on either side of her, Lucy pushed herself further up on the bed. “Just resting. The nurse just took Elena back.”

“Elena?” His own voice sounded hopelessly dumb to his ear.

He looked edgy, she thought, like he didn’t want to be here. Nothing had changed. “The baby.”

“Elena.” Dylan repeated the name slowly. Elaine had been his mother’s name. He thought it an odd coincidence. “Nice name.”

“I always thought so.” She struggled to get past the awkward feeling. And the anger that was cutting off her words, her train of thought. She hadn’t thought seeing him again would hurt so much. “It seems to suit her.”

Dylan lifted a shoulder, letting it drop carelessly. He wouldn’t know about that. Babies all tended to look alike to him, except that this one had a mop of dark hair.

Realizing he was still holding the teddy bear, he felt like a stuttering fool. He thrust it toward her, wanting to be out of here. “Well, I just came by to give you this for the baby—for Elena.”

She took it from him, surprised that he could pick out something so sweet. But then, maybe it wasn’t such a surprise. There had been sweet moments with him. Moments that had been left unguarded when he… She banked down the memory, the feelings. Reliving them would only stir things up more and she had spent all these months clearing them out of her life. “That’s very nice of you.”

“Yeah, well…” He began to edge out of the room.

“You didn’t wait.” Her eyes held his. “You promised you would.”

Feeling uncomfortable in his own skin, he looked away. “I was late for work.”

Lucy nodded. There would always be excuses between them. Excuses and lies. But now there would always be something more.

Setting the teddy bear aside on the table, she took a deep breath and pressed the button on the railing that raised her up into a sitting position. “Could you help me up, please?”

He stopped his retreat and looked at her in surprise. She was trying to get out of bed. What was wrong with her? “Look, I can get the nurse if you—”

Because she continued moving to the edge of the bed in small increments, he pushed the table out of the way and moved beside her, placing his hand to her back to keep her steady.

Only the fact that there was pain shooting through other parts of her kept Lucy from reacting to the feel of his hand along her back. “Sheila said I was supposed get out of bed later today and walk down the hall at least once.”

He stared at her. “But you just gave birth. Well, not ‘just,’ but—” He was stumbling over his own tongue and it annoyed the hell out of him. “Isn’t that a little barbaric?”

The journey to the edge of the bed, to where her legs were dangling over the side, seemed almost endless, but she finally made it, feeling a little triumphant at the accomplishment.

“They say it helps you heal faster.”

She looked at him and tried not to let the fact that his face was just inches away from hers affect her. Instead, she concentrated on the coldness she’d seen in his eyes the day he’d broken it off between them. Broken it off just when she’d thought they were building something lasting.

“Besides,” she continued, “there’s not going to be anyone to help once I get home, I need to get stronger.” Her best friend had offered, but there was the store they co-owned to see to. That would keep Alma more than busy.

Seeing she was determined, Dylan offered her his arm. Some things, he thought, didn’t change. Too bad Ritchie had never had her stubborn streak and stuck it out with something he’d begun. “You’ve always been the strongest person I knew.”

She began to smile at the comment. Her smile tightened as her feet finally reached the floor and she tried to stand. Pain ricocheted through her.

He saw her wincing and stopped immediately. “I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

She clenched her teeth together. “Yes, it is. Just let me hold on to your arm.” Biting her lower lip, she straightened and finally gained her feet.

It was then that he noticed. “You’re barefoot. Wait a second.” As gently as he could, Dylan eased her back onto the bed, then bent down to look under the bed. Except for a couple of wads of what looked like elastic-trimmed light blue tissue paper, there was nothing there. “Where’re your slippers?”

“I don’t have any. I came here unexpectedly, remember?” She curled her toes as more pain sought her out. She forced herself to think past it. “The hospital issued me paper ones. I think they’re under there somewhere.”

Snagging the only things he found, Dylan frowned as he straightened them out. They were slippers, all right—of a sort. “Don’t see how these are going to make much of a difference.”

“It’s all I have right now.” Lucy reached for them, but to her surprise, Dylan started to put them on her feet himself.

“You’re better off not bending and struggling just yet,” he explained gruffly. She might be tough, but she wasn’t always the most sensible woman.

Like the time she’d whispered to him that she loved him.

Carefully, he eased the elastic back on first one, then the other as he slipped them on her feet. Standing up, he offered her his arm again.

She took it, careful to tuck the ends of her gown together. Lucy held them down by pressing her elbow against her side before she straightened again.

“No robe?” He glanced around the room and had his answer even as he asked.

“No robe,” she confirmed. She felt wobbly and tried not to show it. “I’ve got a suitcase packed, but it’s at home. In all the excitement, I forgot about it.”

He should have taken that into account when the ambulance came for her. It was an oversight on his part. “Can’t you call someone to bring it to you?”

There was Alma, but she was busy with the shop. For just a moment, her eyes touched his face before a curtain fell over them. Thoughts of her best friend faded into the background, nudged aside by memories of other times. “Not right now.”

“I’ll get it for you.” He bit the words off. He glanced toward the door. From where he stood, it was a long distance from the bed if measured in pain-encased inches. He still thought she should be resting. “Ready?”

“Ready.” Her voice quavered just a little as very slowly, Lucy took her first step away from the bed and toward the door.

Chapter 4

He’d thought he could contain it. Contain the question and just move on from there. Pretend it didn’t even exist. But it did exist and he hadn’t counted on it ebbing and flowing within him like a living force of nature, rising up like a tidal wave and threatening to wash over him and sweep him away entirely.

There was nothing he could do to stop it.

“Who’s the father, Lucy?” he asked.

Just crossing the threshold leading out of her room, Lucy faltered. Though she’d known she would have to face the question from him soon enough, she hadn’t expected it to be put to her so bluntly, without a preamble.

She kept her face forward, concentrating on her goal—the farthest corner of the nurses’ station’s outer desk. “Just someone I knew.”

Every word stung him, leaving behind a mark even though he told himself it shouldn’t. After what had happened between them, how could she have gone on to someone else so quickly? “That casual?”

One step after another, she chanted mentally, watching her feet. “There was nothing casual about it, but it’s over.”

“He’s not in your life anymore.” It wasn’t exactly a question, but an assumption. One he was very willing to make, though he knew it was selfish of him.

She wished he’d stop asking questions. He hadn’t the right. “Not where it counts.”

“Does he know about the baby?”

She thought of lying, but there were enough lies to keep track of. “No.”

He never could leave things alone, he thought. Even when they were the way he wanted them. “Don’t you think you should tell him?”

She spared him one glance before looking away again. “No. There’re enough complications in both our lives without bringing that in, too. He’s better off not knowing about the baby.”

He couldn’t believe that Lucy would keep something like this a secret. It seemed out of character for her. “Don’t you think you owe it to Elena to let her father know she exists?”

There was anger in her eyes when she looked at him, reminding him of the passion he’d once seen there. Passion that had belonged to him at the time.

If she could have, she would have pulled her arm away from his. But she felt too unsteady to manage the gesture. The words, though, she could manage.

“So that he can knowingly reject her? I don’t think so. Better for that to remain a question than a fact.” It cost her dearly to pull her shoulders back, but she did. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore, all right?”

She had a right to her privacy. He’d always insisted on his. They’d been lovers for less than two-thirds of a year, but she’d never known anything about his family other than the few vague answers he’d given her. “All right.”

She made the next few steps in silence, nodding at the nurse who walked by them and smiled. Lucy knew from experience that Dylan could keep his own council indefinitely. “But I do want to talk.”

He heard the note in her voice and knew what it was about. “I figured.”

“Tell me about Ritchie.” Though it hurt to think of her brother being dead, she forced herself to ask. “How did he die?”

She was still weak. Otherwise, he knew she wouldn’t be hanging on to him so tightly. He didn’t want to add to what she was already going through. “Lucy, this isn’t the time—”

She wasn’t going to let him put her off any longer. And she had a right to know what had happened to her brother. “It’s never the time to hear that someone you loved is dead.” Lucy turned her face toward Dylan. “How did he die?”

“He was shot. At close range. They found him in an irrigation ditch near the farmland,” he said.

The city stood on the site of what had once been a huge farming estate owned by the Bedford family for several generations. Now there were only small, sporadic patches left. Located in the western end of Bedford, they were still coaxing forth crops of corn, strawberries and, in a few places, oranges.

Lucy looked at him, the halting progress she was making temporarily aborted. “Farmland? Ritchie would have never been there. He never liked anything remotely rural.”

Dylan tended to agree with her. The Ritchie he knew was far more likely to be found in clubs and wherever there were bright lights.

“He was killed somewhere else, then dum—left in the ditch.” Dylan caught himself at the last minute, steering clear of the detached language he usually used in referring to victims and suspects. It served to maintain his perspective. Attachments only got in the way of judgment.

But in this case, he couldn’t let himself be clinically detached. To be that way was disrespectful to the friendship he and Ritchie had once had, however fleeting.

Besides, he didn’t really need to be detached here, it wasn’t his case to solve. Only to relate. So far, in his opinion, he was doing a damn poor job of it.

“According to the medical examiner, Ritchie died sometime around seven-thirty this morning. Do you know where he was supposed to be at seven-thirty?”

Lucy’s expression froze. She knew exactly where he was at seven-thirty this morning. She knew because he was doing it for her. “He was going in to work early so that he could get the time off to take me to the doctor.”

Dylan knew what she was thinking. Separation hadn’t dulled his ability to read her thoughts. “It’s not your fault.”

“Isn’t it?” Her eyes filled with tears, which she kept from spilling out through sheer force of will. She didn’t deserve the comfort of tears. Ritchie had died because of her. “If he hadn’t gone in early for me, maybe he’d still be alive.”

“And maybe he would have just been killed later.” He wanted to shield her, but at the same time, he wanted to strip away her guilt. He told her the rest of it. “Lucy, Ritchie was shot execution-style.” One bullet to the back of the head. It seemed surreal when he thought about it. Who could Ritchie have run afoul of for that to happen? He saw the horror in Lucy’s face and pressed on. “That means it was done on purpose. He didn’t just wander in on a burglary gone awry, or a car-jacking that went sour. Somebody meant to kill him.” Impatience clawed at him. There were too many people around. “Can we go back to your room? This isn’t the kind of thing to talk about strolling through the hospital halls.”

“I wouldn’t exactly considered this strolling,” Lucy answered evenly.

She was trying very hard not to let her emotions break through. Inside, it felt as if she had a pressure cooker on, full of steam, ready to explode. Digging her fingers into his arm, she turned around to face the long trip back to her room.

The pace was getting to him. He’d never been one to hurry things along normally, but there was nothing normal about this. “Why don’t I just carry you back? It’d save time.”

Lucy blocked his hand as he moved to pick her up. “No,” she snapped. “I can do this.”

She didn’t want him holding her. Not if she could avoid it. If he held her now, she would lose her strength and just dissolve against him, sobbing her heart out. She’d encountered enough setbacks in her life today as it was. She wasn’t about to set herself up for more.

Annoyance at her stubbornness warred with a grudging admiration for her grit. Dylan managed to curb his impatience until they’d returned to the door of her room. But once he opened it, he swept her up into his arms and carried her the rest of the way.

“What are you doing?” She was almost too exhausted to offer a protest.

“Cutting about forty minutes off the trip back to your bed.” Dylan caught himself thinking she still felt as if she weighed next to nothing.

He had her back in her bed in little more than four quick strides.

“Everything all right in here?”

Turning around, Dylan saw a nurse with salt-and-pepper hair in the doorway, peering into the room. She looked from him to Lucy.

“Fine,” Lucy assured her. “I just got a little tired. It was my first time out of bed.”

The nurse nodded knowingly. “Shouldn’t try to do too much first time up.” And then she smiled, her eyes washing over Dylan before they came to rest on Lucy. “A lady could do worse than have a handsome man carry her around.”

With a wink aimed at Lucy, she left, closing the door behind her.

Dylan moved back from her bed as she slowly toed off the slippers from her feet one at a time. The effort almost drained the remainder of her energy. She moved her legs under the covers, relieved to be lying down again.

With a sigh, she looked up at him. “Do you think you’ll catch whoever killed Ritchie?”

He didn’t answer her directly. “It’s not my case.”

She didn’t understand. “Then why…?”

He was asking himself the same thing. “I thought it might be easier on you, hearing the news from me.” Dylan shrugged carelessly. “Obviously I miscalculated. I hadn’t figured on you being pregnant.”

The coldness in his voice sliced through her. Defenses locked into place. “We can’t always factor in everything. So, who is handling Ritchie’s case? Do they have any leads?”

“Detectives Alexander and Hathaway, and they’re not even sure where he was killed, yet. There was no blood at the crime scene, so he was moved.” He went with the obvious first. “You said Ritchie was working. Where?”

“At a restaurant. He’s a—was a waiter.” Her mouth curved slightly. “He said they call them servers now.”

Yeah, they did. Another attempt at depersonalizing everything, Dylan thought. He would have said it was a good thing, but there were times he wasn’t sure. Being anesthetized was close to being dead, and he’d felt dead for a long time.

Except for the time he’d spent with Lucy.

But all that was over now. He’d made his peace with the fact. He just had to remember that, that’s all.

“Do you know where Ritchie worked?”

She nodded. “It’s called Den of Thieves.” He was staring at her. His face was impassive, but she could see that she had caught him by surprise. She wanted to know why. “What?”

It was a hell of a coincidence. “Are you sure that’s where he worked?”

Why did he doubt her? “Yes, I’m sure. A friend of his got the job for him.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know, Ritchie didn’t give me a name. Just someone he knew.” She should have pressed harder for an answer. She should have done so many things differently. Her eyes met Dylan’s. “Someone he said owed him a favor and this was his way of paying him back.” And then she remembered something. “I don’t know if this means anything or not—”

His eyes pinned her down, the detective in him coming out despite efforts to the contrary. “Let me be the one to decide.”

She tried to get the words just right. “A couple of days ago, Ritchie told me he was on to something. Something that would put us in the money and on the right side of things for a long time to come.” Taking a dim view of his schemes, she’d told him to forget about it then. But Ritchie had been too stubborn to listen.