Daddy Protector

“He denies any involvement with drugs. I didn’t tell him about the rumor, by the way,” Andie added. “Based on his history, I considered it a logical line of inquiry.”

“So what’s this about someone else at the scene?” Hale pressed.

She appeared to be weighing the advantages and disadvantages of disclosure. Possibly since he’d already provided his statement and therefore wasn’t likely to be influenced, openness won.

“Mrs. Rios saw a man exit the building about twenty minutes before the fire started. Only glimpsed him from the rear.” She consulted her notes. “Male, wearing a dark suit, stocky build, about six feet tall with brown hair. Might have been a salesman, although nobody knocked on her door.”

“It wasn’t Vince Borrego?”

“Mrs. Rios described our guy as taller and heavier. Also, Mr. Borrego was at his office with a client.” Although there’d been a few earlier break-ins in the area, that suspect’s description didn’t match, either.

She switched off the tape recorder and shut her notebook. “Good thing you showed up there, Hale. Thanks to you, the kid’s fine.”

“Joel told me.” Also that Skip had been removed from Paula’s custody. And a darn good thing.

Hale hoped the DA brought child endangerment charges against the woman, who, according to Joel—on duty as watch commander—had gone out to buy baby clothes for her new grandchild. The fact that she’d been distraught about the situation softened his anger only marginally.

Rising, Andie brushed a wave of auburn hair behind one ear. The gesture might have struck him as flirtatious if not for Andie’s no-nonsense manner. “Sure you’re okay?” She cast a dubious glance at the untouched plate on his tray.

“I’d love a Twinkie,” Hale hinted, not at all subtly. “Sugar usually settles my stomach.”

“Sorry. I’m fresh out.”

A tap at the entryway announced the arrival of a large floral display with slim, stocking-clad legs. He couldn’t discern much of the newcomer’s face. But he’d have recognized his neighbor’s shapely limbs anywhere.

“Wow!” the investigator said. “That’s a fantastic arrangement. Who sent it?”

“Courtesy of the gift shop,” Connie announced from behind the flora. “These were the leftovers that wouldn’t keep another day. And you are—?”

“Andrea O’Reilly. Fire department.”

“Oh. You’re investigating.” The floral extravaganza navigated to a window ledge that already held several bouquets. “I’m Connie Simmons.” Returning, she thrust out a hand, which Andie shook.

His new guest appeared to believe that introduction sufficed to explain who she was. And so it did. “Ah,” Andie said. “You’re Joel’s ex.”

“Precisely.” Connie folded her arms, an action that emphasized the curves beneath her suit. It was startling to Hale how readily he responded even in his semidebilitated state.

“I guess dreams do come true, Detective,” Andie remarked.

Was his reaction that obvious? Hale tugged the scanty covers higher over the hospital gown. “Yeah?” Luckily, before he said anything awkward, he realized she referred to a small bag that dangled from Connie’s wrist. Imprinted with the legend Sandie’s Tea Shoppe, it yielded an aroma so sweet and appetizing it penetrated the lingering scent of smoke in his nasal passages.

“Dessert?” Hale croaked.

“I doubted the hospital came up to your culinary standards. For junk food, anyway.” She grimaced at the plate he’d been ignoring. “What on earth is that?”

“A liquid diet.” Bouillon and flavored gelatin, neither of which he’d touched. “Do I smell baked goods?” Astonishing how rapidly his appetite returned.

“Enjoy your treat, folks.” With a wave, Andie sauntered out.

Connie waited a couple of beats, then asked, “That was about the fire, correct?”

She sounded jealous. Unbelievable, yet gratifying, too. “She put me on the rack. I’m dying for sustenance.”

“I’m glad you’re not dying for real,” she admitted.

“Really? You were worried?”

“That was brave of you.” From the bag, Connie removed an array of the little snack cakes for which Sandie’s had won local fame. “I couldn’t bear it if something happened to Skip.”

“The little guy behaved like a trooper.” When Hale attempted to reach for a pastry, his body throbbed like crazy. Sinking against the pillow, he pressed a button to increase his dose of painkiller and waited for the misery to pass.

The bed dipped as Connie eased onto the mattress. When a soft hand stroked his temple, he felt like purring.

Man, what was wrong with him? Hale wondered. Another minute and he’d let her feed those pastries directly into his mouth. Must be the effect of the medication.

“Taste this. It’ll distract you.” She pressed a small portion of cake to his lips.

Vanilla. Too good to spit out. And never mind the crumbs. He suddenly decided he liked crumbs in bed. Tonight, he’d be happy to roll in crumbs. “Fantastic.”

“Try some more.” Another taste of heaven.

If the guys saw him like this, he’d be the laughingstock of the force. So what? Connie’d been worried. She’d brought him food. Which meant that maybe she found him as attractive as he found her.

It occurred to Hale that when he got home, he ought to act on the chemistry between him and his neighbor. Surely there was a statute of limitations after which a buddy’s ex-wife became available to a guy.

But right now, he felt too good to worry about that.

Chapter Four

Shortly before 11:00 a.m. on Tuesday, Connie left Jo Anne and a part-timer at the shop to go retrieve Hale, who was scheduled to be released. She didn’t usually run errands for him, but he’d earned this one.

Besides, if someone from the police station ran him home, details would get overlooked, such as whether he had the proper medical supplies or enough frozen dinners to last the next few days. Guys neglected things like that.

At the medical center, she dropped in to the gift shop. Marta Lawson, Connie’s cousin and the concession manager, greeted her warmly.

“The new puzzles are selling like crazy.” Small and vibrant, Marta indicated a display of colorful devices from Japan. They were her personal find from an Internet source. “Folks in the lobby love playing while they wait. Watching them sit for hours during surgeries makes me appreciate even more what you and Rachel went through for me.”

A decade earlier, an automobile accident had nearly claimed Marta’s life as she and Connie were driving to classes at California State University, Fullerton. Rachel, a police science student with whom they’d attended high school, had rushed from the curb and rescued her just before the vehicle burst into flames. Badly injured, Marta had spent years in rehab and still bore scars. Connie’s broken arm had quickly healed.

Since Marta’s mother had died several years earlier, Connie and Rachel had spent many hours sitting by her bedside and, later, escorting her to therapy. In the process, the three had bonded tightly.

“You’d do the same for either of us,” Connie pointed out. “In fact, if you hadn’t invited me to the tutoring center, I’d never have met Skip.” Despite her disabilities, Marta had helped Yolanda organize the center, known as Villa Corazon. A play on the name Villazon, it meant “Town of the Heart” in Spanish.

“Speaking of Skip, any word about him?” her cousin asked.

“I tried to reach my lawyer this morning, but the secretary said he’d gone out. I guess he’s in court.” Connie had also left several messages at protective services but so far had received no response.

Across the lobby, an elevator opened. A middle-aged woman in a volunteer’s pink uniform emerged, pushing Hale in a wheelchair.

“Oh, my gosh!” Connie said. “He’s worse off than I realized.” Then she remembered. “Oh, yeah, hospitals always put patients in wheelchairs before releasing them. Why, do you suppose?”

“Something to do with liability if they trip on their way out, I think.” Marta indicated the volunteer following them with a pair of crutches. “He is injured, though.”

“Sprained ankle, he mentioned.” Connie’s gaze lingered on Hale. In a sport shirt and sculpted jeans, his frame seemed too powerful to be confined. Someone had brought him fresh clothes, Connie observed, and hoped it was Joel rather than that striking red-haired fire investigator.

“I wondered when you’d quit fighting it,” Marta murmured.

“Quit fighting what?” Connie signaled to catch Hale’s attention. He must have cracked a joke, because both volunteers were chuckling.

“You’ve been staring at that man like you’re dying of thirst and he’s an oasis.” Her cousin shook her head. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pry. But when you look at him, the air sizzles.”

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