скачать книгу бесплатно
“No. Ammo cans are sold at surplus stores all over the country. This one held some stolen property, along with a couple of blasting caps. Katy must have uncovered the can while digging, and they detonated.” Withdrawing a notebook and pen from his jacket pocket, he gave her an uncomfortable look. “I need some information for my report—just basic stuff. Is that okay?”
She shrugged.
“What is your full name?”
“Fiona Frances Lake.”
His gaze lingered on her face a moment before he wrote it down. “And Katy’s?”
“Kathleen Hope.”
“Hope’s her last name?”
“Middle name,” she said impatiently. “Her last name is Lake.”
“But— Why doesn’t she have your husband’s name?”
His question sent a stab of pain through Fiona. He was the only man she’d ever wanted to marry, the only one she’d wanted to spend the rest of her life with, and he’d claimed to feel the same about her. It had taken her years to stop wanting him, and she hadn’t yet found a way to want anyone else. It had taken him only a few days, maybe even hours, to forget her.
“I don’t have a husband,” she said stiffly, “so it would be difficult for her to take his name.”
Justin stared at her across the bed, obviously surprised. “You’re not married?”
“No.”
“Have you been?”
“No. I had plans once, but it turned out, the offer was just part of the joke.”
He had no reaction to the jibe. He simply continued to look surprised, with some confusion thrown in for good measure. “But—Katy— Who is her father? Where is he? Why didn’t you marry him?”
Fiona went cold inside. This wasn’t funny. Pretending ignorance when she’d delivered the news of her pregnancy herself was not the best path to choose. He’d known he was going to be a father, and he hadn’t cared enough to even acknowledge it. He’d ignored her message and ignored their daughter for her entire life, and now he was pretending he didn’t know? Was he such a self-centered bastard that he possibly could have forgotten? Or merely a coward who couldn’t own up to his failings?
Or…was it possible he truly didn’t know? He sounded sincere—but he’d sounded sincere when he’d told her he loved her and wanted to marry her, and he’d been lying then. He could well be lying now.
She hadn’t actually delivered the news to him herself, a sly voice reminded her. She’d left the message on his answering machine—the only way she could make contact, since he’d refused to take or return her calls. When he’d never responded, she had assumed that he’d gotten the message and just didn’t give a damn about the baby. It had been so easy to think when he’d made it abundantly clear that he didn’t give a damn about her.
But what if he hadn’t gotten it? An accidental erasure, a tape malfunction, hitting the wrong button by mistake… Oh, God, what if he’d never known?
Her palms damp, her stomach queasy, Fiona turned away from the bed and walked to the window, where she lifted one corner of the shade. The sun was setting, turning the western horizon shades of pink and purple, and darkness was quickly settling in. Already the streetlights were on, and as she watched, lights flickered on in nearby houses. She raised the shade, then folded her arms across her chest as she stared out. “I thought you were leaving this afternoon.”
“That was my plan, before this happened.”
“There’s an ATF office in Denver.” Six years ago he had talked about trying to get a transfer there. Obviously that plan had changed, too. “Surely they can handle this.”
“They could, but it’s my case.” His voice was closer, though she hadn’t heard him move. She felt, then saw his approach from the corner of her eye as he passed, then turned to lean against the windowsill. With his hands in his pockets and his ankles crossed, he looked more relaxed than he had a right to be. It was an illusion, though. There was tension in his jaw, in his eyes.
So much about him was an illusion.
“You can do that?” she asked as if she cared. “Claim a case as your own just because you have the dumb luck to be around when it happens?”
“No. Denver has jurisdiction, but they agreed to let me work it.”
Wonderful. So he’d be in town longer than she’d planned. How much longer? she wanted to ask. How long would she have to cope with the fact that he was living right next door? To know that every time she left her house, she risked running into him? How long would she have to tell him the truth…or do her damnedest to hide it?
“So…about those questions… Who is Katy’s father, and why didn’t you marry him?”
“I don’t see how either of them matters.”
“This is a federal crime, Fiona, and unfortunately, Katy is the victim. I need identifying information on her.”
“She’s the only Kathleen Hope Lake in all of Grand Springs, and I’m the only Fiona Lake. You have our address. I’ll give you our phone number and her social security number. I’ll even show you the scar on her leg where she slid into home plate last summer. That’s more than enough to identify her. As for why I didn’t marry her father—” How could that possibly have any bearing? But what was the alternative? That he was asking out of personal interest? Equally impossible. His personal interest in her hadn’t even survived the trip back to Washington. It certainly hadn’t survived the six years since. “He didn’t want to be married—didn’t want to be a father.” Maybe. Unless he truly hadn’t known.
Forcing a chilly note into her voice, she asked, “Any other questions?”
He looked as if he didn’t want to back down, but after a long, still moment, he shook his head. “Not at this time.” He pushed away from the window, then stopped right beside her. “I’ll be in touch,” he said quietly.
“I hope not.”
His smile was thin and thoroughly unamused. “I’m sure you do.”
She watched him leave, then returned to Katy’s bedside. Emotion tightened her chest and dampened her eyes as she gazed at her. Her daughter was the best, most wonderful thing to ever happen to her. She couldn’t imagine life without her—couldn’t imagine having a child somewhere and not knowing it, not being given the chance to love him or her.
So did Justin deserve to know about Katy? Would it make any difference? Would it turn him into father material, or would he walk away from her, the way he’d walked away from her mother? Would he want to spend time with her, be a part of her life, or would he reject her the way his parents had rejected him?
What if, God help her, he decided he wanted custody? Katy had never been away from Fiona for more than a night, and even then she hadn’t gone farther than her grandparents’ or a friend’s house. Could Fiona bear to send her halfway across the country? To not be able to kiss her and tuck her into bed, to not be there in case she woke up in the night or got sick or scared? Could she trust the most important treasure in her life to the care of a man who’d already shown his lack of trustworthiness?
She couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Katy was her daughter. Simply providing the sperm didn’t make a man a father, and that was all Justin had done. It wasn’t an act that should be rewarded now with the privilege of having Katy in his life.
But what if that was all he’d done because he hadn’t known? What if he would have been as thrilled with the prospect of parenthood as she’d been—if he would have loved Katy dearly from the moment he’d learned of her existence?
Hiding her face in her hands, she groaned aloud. She wanted to be fair to Katy, to herself—even, reluctantly, to Justin. All her life she’d made a point of doing the right thing…but she’d never faced a decision in which the right choice could cost her dearly. Not only might she bring this man, who’d broken her heart, back into her life, but she could conceivably lose her daughter. If he was angry or felt cheated, he could make her life—and Katy’s—miserable.
She groaned again, then gave a start when a voice came from the shadows near the door. “Is that shorthand for I’m tired, This day has been too much, Idiots shouldn’t be allowed blasting caps, or a prelude to tears?” Steve Wilson, surgeon and husband to one of her best friends, came into the light, carrying Katy’s chart. He laid it on the bedside table, then enveloped Fiona in a hug. “How’re you doing?”
It had been the worst thirty-six hours of her life, but she kept that answer to herself. “I’m tired. This day has been too much. Idiots with blasting caps should be locked away forever.” She smiled wanly. “No tears.” Not yet, at least.
“How’s Katy?”
“Sleeping peacefully.”
“Rest is the best thing for her. It’s best for you, too. It’s not the most comfortable bed in the world, but that chair in the corner reclines, and you can get a blanket and a pillow from the nurses’ station. Have you had anything to eat?”
“I’m not hungry.”
He gave her a critical look, then said, “I’ll have them bring you a tray when they serve dinner. You’ve got to keep your strength up. Katy’s going to be pretty clingy the next few days. You’ll need all your energy and then some.”
Remembering the way she’d hung on to Justin that morning, and then the strength with which she’d grabbed hold of her, Fiona nodded. “Other than that, she’ll be all right, won’t she?” she asked, hearing the pleading in her voice and not the least bit ashamed of it.
“As far as we can tell. She might overreact to loud noises, have a few bad dreams, be afraid to leave your side, or she might bounce right back. You never know with kids. However she reacts, you’ll have plenty of help dealing with it. You won’t even have to ask.”
With a grateful nod, she rested her head on his shoulder as her gaze was drawn back to Katy. She’d practically forgotten what it was like to have a shoulder to lean on, to feel a man’s arm around her, to feel safe and secure in the way only a man could make a woman feel. The feminist in her rebelled at the thought—she’d been perfectly happy, safe and secure the last six years without a man—but the realist admitted it was true.
And the woman wondered how much truer it would be if the man wasn’t married to her friend and the closest thing she’d ever had to a brother.
If it was someone like Justin.
Speak of the devil… Once more the door swung open, and Justin made it halfway to the bed before abruptly stopping. He looked from her to Steve, and a curiously frosty look came into his eyes. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said, though clearly he wasn’t. He offered her purse to her across the bed. “I locked up your house when we finished there this afternoon. I forgot to bring this in earlier. Your keys are inside.”
“Thank you.” Feeling something oddly like guilt, she moved out of Steve’s embrace to take her bag. “Steve Wilson, this is Special Agent Reed with the ATF.”
The chill in his eyes dropped a few more degrees as he extended his hand. “Justin.”
“Golda’s nephew. I’m very sorry about your aunt. I was one of her doctors and one of her admirers.” Steve nodded toward Katy. “I hope you catch the man who did this.”
“I intend to.”
He’d always been so damned confident, and he’d always had reason before. Fiona hoped he did this time, too. She hoped he was the best damn special agent the ATF had ever seen and that he buried the man responsible for hurting Katy under the tallest mountain in the state.
After a moment, Steve broke the strained silence that had settled. “I’m heading home, Fiona. Rebecca’s waiting for me. If anything comes up, don’t hesitate to call. And eat the meal they bring you. You can’t live on nerves alone. Justin, nice to meet you.”
“Thanks, Steve.” Fiona watched him go, then turned to put her purse on the nightstand.
The silence settled again, heavy, tense. It crawled along her skin and made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She was on the verge of snapping at Justin to say something or get out when he spoke. “A married man. I’m surprised. I never figured you for that type.”
“We both know what ‘type’ you figured me for, don’t we?” The easy type. The love-her-and-leave-her type. The gullible believe-all-the-sweet-lies type.
He ignored her comment. He was so damned good at ignoring anything he didn’t want to notice. “Is that why you wouldn’t tell me Katy’s father’s name? Because he’s married?”
Too angry to face him, she went to the corner to move the recliner closer to the bed. Unfortunately, even angry, she didn’t budge it more than a few inches.
Justin came across the room and easily slid the chair exactly where she wanted it, where she could lean back and still touch her daughter. “No answer prepared, Fiona?”
Her fingers gripped the back edges of the chair tightly. Her voice was equally tight when she spoke. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no, Steve isn’t Katy’s father. He’s a very good friend. I’m sure that’s a concept you don’t understand, but it’s true all the same. I don’t tell anyone Katy’s father’s name because I’d rather forget he exists, just as he forgot we existed.”
Forgot her, her annoying little voice whispered. Never knew about Katy.
She took a few deep breaths to ease the panic rising in her chest, to control the emotion in her voice. “I appreciate your bringing my purse and keys. Now I’d appreciate it if you would leave.” And not come back. She bit back the words, but he looked as if he heard them anyway.
Lines bracketed his mouth, and tension gave his face a hard, shuttered look. “I’ll be around.”
Was that a promise? she wanted to call out as the door closed behind him.
Or a threat?
Chapter 3
Justin felt like hell when he left the house Sunday morning. His night had been restless—dreams of Fiona interrupted by nightmares of explosions and a crying, bloodied, dark-haired child. He’d seen kids injured far worse than Katy before, had helped dig tiny broken bodies out of the rubble after a bombing. It was the toughest aspect of his job. He hated it and hoped each time would be the last time.
But those kids had been strangers. He hadn’t made love to their mothers, hadn’t planned a future or kids with them, or imagined himself in love with them. Maybe Katy’s injuries weren’t serious, but the fact that she was Fiona’s daughter—that, if he’d been a braver man, she might have been his daughter—made them seem deadly serious.
And he wanted Patrick Watkins to pay for them.
After a fast-food breakfast and a stop at the hospital gift shop, he took the elevator to Katy’s floor and went down the hall to her room. The door was open a few inches. He tapped on it before pushing it wider and stepping inside.
The room was brightly lit, and flowers, balloon bouquets and gifts covered most of the flat surfaces. Counting a half-dozen stuffed animals, he looked wryly at the polar bear he’d bought. Looked like he could have saved his money and the gesture.
Katy was sitting up in bed, pillows behind her back, and Fiona sat facing her, coaxing her to eat her breakfast. He knew from the photos in Golda’s house that she was fair-skinned, but she looked even paler today with the bruises and the lines of stitches across her cheek and jaw. With her dark gaze locked on him, she opened her mouth automatically for a bite of eggs, chewed, then opened it again for more. She showed no interest in him, no recognition, no curiosity at all.
After taking one last bite, she refused to open her mouth again, no matter how Fiona prodded. With a sigh, Fiona pushed the tray away and brushed Katy’s hair back, then turned to see what had caught her attention.
Her clothes were rumpled, her hair mussed, her face free of makeup. There were shadows under her eyes and a tight set to her mouth, along with an overall tension that gave her a brittle air. She looked tired, worried, worn down…and beautiful. No matter what had changed between them, that hadn’t. He’d always thought she was one of the most beautiful women he’d seen, and he still did.
Beautiful, and not happy to see him. Surprise, surprise.
Justin moved closer to the bed. “Hi, Katy. How do you feel this morning?”
After a moment in which the girl continued to treat him to that steady stare, Fiona replied with some strain in her voice, “She doesn’t feel like talking yet.”
“Is that—” Not normal. That would raise her hackles. Though, hell, his merely being there raised her hackles. “—expected?”
“The doctor said to give her a few days. She was traumatized by the blast. She just needs a little time. You don’t have to question her, do you?”
He shook his head. If he hadn’t been watching from the kitchen window, he might need to hear whatever Katy could tell him, but he had been watching, and it was doubtful she could add anything to what he already knew.
“Then…not to sound rude, but…why are you here?”
“I brought her this—” he held up the bear “—and I thought you might need a ride home. They said last night she would be released around ten, barring any complications. Is not talking a complication?”
“Not enough of one to keep her here.” She didn’t say anything about the ride home—didn’t point out that she had family and friends in town willing to provide more rides than she could possibly accept. No doubt, someone was already on his way over, someone she’d be happy to see. “Have you found out anything?”
“An agent came in from Denver to pick up the evidence we’d collected. It’ll be sent to our lab in Maryland for examination. The stolen property that was in the can is locked up at the local police station. It will eventually be returned to its owners.”
“And you don’t have a clue who’s responsible?”
Justin’s fingers tightened in the bear’s fur. “Actually I do. I told you last night, it’s my case. I’ve been after this guy for years.”
She stared at him as if she was having trouble understanding. “Someone you were already investigating before you came here buried that can with blasting caps and it wound up in my yard?”
“Quite a coincidence, huh?” His smile felt sickly, and it faded quickly. “His name is Patrick Watkins, and he has a fondness for exquisite jewels, adrenaline highs and explosives, though not necessarily in that order. To date, he’s responsible for twenty-four jewel thefts, along with twenty-four bombings. He’s a thrill-seeker. He steals the gems to prove he can, and he sets off the bombs afterward as…” He shrugged. “A signature. And a celebratory thing. Like spiking a football in the end zone after a touchdown.”
“A celebratory thing? He sets off bombs for fun? My daughter could have been—” Realizing that Katy was listening, she clamped her jaw shut, but that didn’t stop a shudder of revulsion from rippling through her.
“We’re going to stop him.” It sounded lame, small comfort to any mother who’d been through what she had in the last twenty-four hours, but it was all he had to offer. Beyond that, he didn’t know what else to say, whether he should repeat the offer of a ride or just leave. Before he could decide, he became aware of tentative touches brushing his fingers where they burrowed into the bear’s fur. Looking down, he saw Katy stroking the fur. “It’s soft, isn’t it?”
Her only response was a wide-eyed look.
“Do you like polar bears?”
