The Rookie

“Sure. If the arts is something that interests him or her, that’s the way to go. For others it’s sports.” Like the group of teens he volunteered with at his neighborhood youth center. “Some do well helping out younger kids as a mentor or tutor. They like that sense of responsibility.” He braced his elbows on the tiny piece of Formica that passed for a desk and leaned forward. She’d touched on an issue near and dear to his heart. One that had put him in this seat in her classroom in the first place. “There’s no one way to reach every kid. But something clicks with each of them. It’s a matter of finding the time and the patience and the funding to discover and supply that thing that clicks.”

He began to move his hands in the same fluid way she had. “If they have nothing to live for or work toward, then the gangs and the drugs are there waiting for them. They all want to connect with something positive. Unfortunately, the trouble is usually easier to find.”

Too easy, he thought, remembering his other life. The life before this one. The one in which one teenage boy could lie lifeless in his arms and another could damn him for saving his sorry hide. Such a waste. He clenched his gesturing hand into a fist and silently consumed his anger. The grim memories threatened to steal his ability to even fake a smile.

Such a waste.

A smattering of applause and a couple of appreciative whistles gave Josh the opportunity to look around the room. He nodded at the blond girl sitting two desks over. Kelly, he thought she’d said. Nine years younger than he, though she seemed to think he was eligible material—judging by the hooded sweep of her bright-blue eyes. Josh grinned and she giggled.

He looked beyond her, at the end of the aisle, two rows back. Joey King. A long-haired loner who wore his thick nylon parka to class every day.

To Josh’s left, he glanced at David Brown, king of the class, surrounded by two thick-necked jocks, a nerdy-looking accounting major and a changing variety of pretty girls. Today there was a redhead. On Friday, his conquest had been a brunette.

Behind him, probably dozing in the top row, he’d find Larry, Moe and Curly. Okay, so he knew they were really Nathan, Rod and Isaac. But the nicknames fit them only too well.

He was watching them all. Slowly but surely getting to know each student. There were others in the class. He recognized every face. Knew them each by name. But those were the ones he wanted to know better.

One of them he wanted to get to know better than he knew himself.

Because one of them could lead him to a killer.

But not today.

Today he’d do well to keep his cover intact.

“I don’t think I can top that speech.” Dr. Livesay clapped her hands together and commanded their attention. “Don’t forget that Wednesday you have your next quiz. Be sure you’ve read all the chapters and reviewed your notes.”

An answering medley of moans and groans made Josh smile again. He added his own complaint to the chorus for good measure and reached for his backpack to load up his books and pen.

“David?” As the students filed toward the exit, Dr. Livesay singled out the self-proclaimed leader of the class and motioned him down the stairs. “Could I speak with you for a moment?” Judging by the tight expression around her mouth, Josh figured David wasn’t going to like what she had to say. She thumbed over her shoulder toward the door behind the speaker’s platform that led into a wing of smaller, private rooms. “In my office?”

David Brown was a wiry young man in his early twenties with dark-brown hair and eyes. He stood a head shorter than either of his pseudo-bodyguard buddies, though Josh suspected he possessed the explosive strength of a bantamweight boxer. His face was nothing remarkable to look at, but today’s redhead sure seemed clingy. Josh supposed David was heartthrob material in a future-C.E.O. kind of way.

Josh noted the lack of visible tension in the young man’s body. His laid-back nonchalance bordered on rudeness.

While Josh zipped his bag shut and reached for his padded leather coat, David Brown nudged his girlfriend du jour up the stairs and nodded to his linebacker friends.

After Dr. Livesay had gathered her things at the podium and exited through the rear door, the three young men traipsed down the stairs. Before the door closed behind them, Josh noted David’s hand signals to his buddies.

Strange. What kind of college student needed the protection of two oversize jocks stationing themselves like guards at the end of the hallway?

Josh zipped his jacket and lingered a moment, digging into his pockets for the matching black leather gloves. The commonsense warnings of Lieutenant Cutler told him this was none of his business. Curiosity told him otherwise.

Trusting his instincts over his training, Josh grabbed his backpack and hurried after them.

He pushed the locking bar on the door and entered the oldest part of the building, onto which the lecture hall had been added. Sure enough, Jock One and Jock Two were pacing like sentries at the water fountain across from Dr. Livesay’s office.

Boldy testing his theory, Josh walked right up between them and took a drink. They stood their ground as if ordered to do so, instead of scattering to a polite distance.

Josh was definitely sticking around to figure this one out. Stepping back, he pulled his research paper from his backpack and crossed the marble floor to Rachel Livesay’s office.

He had the doorknob turned before Jock One tapped him on the shoulder. “You can’t go in there.”

Jock Two framed him on the opposite side. “Yeah. The professor’s got somebody with her right now.”

Josh grinned his best good-ole-boy smile, pretending he hadn’t heard the threat in their helpful comments. “No sweat. I can wait.”

He sat on a bench beside the office door and evaluated the would-be guards. Intimidating in size, perhaps, but not terribly observant. He’d left the door nudged open a crack to hear what was being said inside. If the twin jocks had the brains to go along with that brawn, Josh would have his hands full justifying his presence. As it was, they dismissed his unassuming slouch and he faded into the woodwork.

“You can’t kick me out of class for that.” David Brown’s too-cool voice shrilled with an unexpected whine from Rachel Livesay’s inner office.

Josh snuck a peek at David’s protective cohorts. They’d heard the same protest. They traded confused glances. Maybe no one had ever challenged their fearless leader’s autonomy before. He gave a mental thumbs-up to Rachel Livesay and whatever law she was laying down.

“Yes, I can.” She raised her volume a notch to command David’s attention. “That’s school policy. Read your handbook.”

“But I need this credit for my major.”

David’s protest was followed by the screech of wood against wood, a chair sliding across a floor. Josh tensed at the sudden, forceful sound. Was it a burst of temper or a defensive maneuver? Was David making a threat? Or was the doc standing her ground?

Either way, he wasn’t supposed to notice. He couldn’t maintain the laid-back demeanor of his cover and show a reaction. He silently counted to ten, waiting for some sign to lessen the impulse to barge in, to Dr. Livesay’s defense, to see if she was all right.

A door swung open inside, making her next words crystal clear. “You don’t understand, David. Plagiarism is a probationary offense that can lead to expulsion from the university. I’m turning you in to the Dean’s Office. You’ll be required to appear before a review board. If you’re lucky, they’ll let you stay in school.”

“We’ll see about that. I’m talking to my advisor. He’ll listen to my side of the story.”

“Do that,” she challenged.

David’s temper seemed to dissipate as quickly as it had flared. “Is that all, ma’am? I need to get to my next class. I assume I should continue my regular schedule until I hear otherwise?”

The outer door to the hallway opened wide, and Josh sat up straight, more suspicious of this sudden mood change than of David’s initial burst of anger. One of the bruisers standing guard at the fountain took a step closer. Josh stood, surreptitiously blocking the young man’s path to the doorway.

“Of course,” Dr. Livesay answered after a slight pause, as if she, too, had noticed the reinforcements heading her way. “Someone from the Dean’s Office will be contacting you.”

“Got it.”

David brushed past Josh and sauntered down the hallway toward the outside exit. He disappeared through the double glass doors. His goons followed close on his heels.

In the sudden emptiness of the marbled hall, Josh heard a small catch of breath.

He turned and looked down at the pale color of Dr. Livesay’s cheeks. Without thinking, he let his gaze slide up to meet hers. Her eyes had blanched to the dull gray-green color of a lake on a sunless winter’s day. The vibrant energy that had animated her during her lecture was absent in the current sag of her posture.

Josh felt his body turning, shifting toward her. She seemed tired, spent, emotionally drained. She looked like she needed a shoulder to lean on right about now. He had two, size extra-large. And he was willing to accommodate her.

But then she broke their mutual gaze and retreated toward her office.

Josh debated a moment, hovering in the open doorway, wondering if he should say something. Worrying that he should stay to make sure she’d be okay after that unpleasant encounter with David Brown.

She stopped and turned. “Did you need something, Mr. Tanner?”

“Uh, no, ma’am. It can wait.”

“Catch the door on your way out, okay?”

“Sure.”

She closed the door to her inner office, dismissing him the way she did the other young teens and twenty-somethings.

And why not? Josh chided himself. If she saw him as a student, and not a fellow adult, that meant he’d created a convincing cover. Besides, she probably had a friend her own age whom she was calling right now. Someone whose sympathetic ear would mean something to her.

Adjusting his bag on his shoulder, Josh turned his back on Rachel Livesay and headed down the hallway.

It felt wrong to turn his back on anyone in trouble. But he had a different job to do right now.

And this time he’d play by Cutler’s rules and get it done right.

A detective’s shield and a lot of innocent young lives were depending on it.

RACHEL LOCKED HER DOOR and sank into her office chair. She stood up again, just as quickly, as the baby protested the change in position.

“Give me a break, little one.” She rubbed at the tender skin on her left side, where the baby liked to wedge her foot up under one of Rachel’s ribs. “Sorry about Mommy’s blood pressure. You know how it flies when she loses her temper or gets upset.”

And that confrontation with David Brown had really upset her. Of course, with her hormones so out of whack, she never knew what was going to set her off. And then there was that damn note.

Rachel blinked and pinched her nose shut, fighting off the salty rush of tears that stung her eyes. She would not let that stupid prank get to her. But she could barely remember what she’d discussed in class today. She’d spent half her time sizing up each student and wondering which one could be crass enough or desperate enough to threaten her precious baby.

The three deadbeats in the back row didn’t seem to have enough brainpower between them to come up with something so devious. No, when she thought of devious, she thought of David Brown. Acting as if she was lucky he’d given her a moment of his time. He knew darn well what the consequences of his illegal actions were, and he had the arrogance to accuse her of persecuting him! And then to walk off as if stealing someone else’s work and claiming it as his own was no big deal. He definitely had the brains and the audacity to threaten someone.

But she’d received that note before he’d learned of his certain probation and possible expulsion. Rachel released her nose and blew out a weary sigh. So much for motive.

She pulled her planner from her bag and read through the names on the class roster. Joey King? He certainly was quiet and mysterious enough, sitting there class after class in his dark coat and never saying a word. He was pulling a C. But at least he was doing his own work. Amber? Kelly? She shook her head. They were more interested in the young men in class than in anything she had to say. In fact, Amber had latched on to David’s arm today. Not the wisest move, in Rachel’s opinion. But a poor choice in men certainly wasn’t a criminal offense.

Rachel laughed out loud and shared the joke with her baby. “If it was, I’d be in jail right now.”

She had fallen for Simon Livesay’s dark good looks that first day of residency at the private psychiatric center in Topeka. After working side-by-side for a year, sharing research and steamy nights of passion, they’d eloped to Las Vegas.

She’d loved his intellect, his sense of humor and his worldly ways.

She hadn’t loved the string of affairs that started before their first anniversary.

With backgrounds as therapists, they couldn’t help but attempt a reconciliation. But ultimately, their marriage had been doomed to failure. She wanted children. Simon only wanted the fun that came in making them.

They’d parted amicably enough, splitting their successful practice and their lives fifty-fifty.

Rachel closed her planner and dropped it onto the desk. She looked around at the spotless organization of her office and drifted to the window. Pressing her hand against the cool metal frame, she looked outside at the bustle. Students hurrying to class. A pair of professors talking intently. There was even a group of young men dodging and diving in the wintertime ritual of a snowball fight.

She turned and faced the empty silence of her office again.

Fifty-fifty. Half a life. That’s how she’d felt for so long.

She cradled the precious being growing within her. She was honest enough to admit that fear of a life half-lived, as much as the loud ticking of her biological clock, had prompted her to visit the fertility clinic. Since she couldn’t trust a man to make her happy, she’d turned to her work, and she’d turn to her baby. They’d have a life together. A safe life. A life full of love, where an adult made a commitment and saw the relationship through, no matter what.

Satisfied with the choices she had made, Rachel ignored the baby’s protests and sat down to review her notes for an upcoming counseling session. Gradually, the chill from outside worked its way into the room. Rachel pulled her coat from the back of her chair and shrugged it around her shoulders.

The comforting rush of warmth reminded her of a similar feeling she’d experienced earlier in the hallway. The idea of a warm hug made her think of Josh Tanner.

The big, brassy-haired student who distracted more than one set of female eyes during her lectures had hovered outside her office. She’d been relieved to find him standing there, strategically positioned between her and David’s buddies, Lance and Shelton. Had she imagined something more than idle curiosity had prompted him to stay and witness the exchange with David Brown? As improper as the thought might be, she’d been grateful that he’d hung around.

David hadn’t actually threatened her. But she’d still felt threatened.

If Josh Tanner hadn’t been there, she would have been alone with David and his friends. That prospect was more unsettling than her fears of simply being alone.

Once David had left the office, she’d felt Josh’s gaze on her. Like that warm hug. In a moment of weak relief, she’d ensnared herself in the bright-blue sky of his eyes. Those eyes had seemed older than they had in class when he’d pulled that B.S. answer out of his hat. They’d seemed kind. Concerned. For her. He’d been concerned for her.

Rachel shook aside the notion before that soft, tended feeling overtook her again. Josh Tanner had been raised right, that was all. The young man had compassion. No doubt she’d projected some damsel-in-distress pheromone that had prompted him to hang around.

Whatever his reason, she was glad he’d been there. For those few brief minutes in time, she hadn’t felt quite so alone. She’d felt safe. She’d almost thanked him. No. She’d almost run into his arms and asked him to hold her. But rational thought had kicked in. Josh was a student. She was his professor, a good fifteen years his senior. It would hardly be ethical for her to turn to him for any personal sort of comfort.

She’d handle this threat—if there really was anything to it—alone. If she could raise a baby by herself, she could handle a disgruntled student. She could tackle a piece of paper stuck on her windshield.

Shoving aside any lingering fears or fantasies, she reached for her planner again and thumbed to the page of phone listings. By the time she’d punched in the number for the Washburn Fertility Clinic, her usual confidence had returned.

It was high time she found out who Daddy was.

Chapter Two

“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.