скачать книгу бесплатно
“Believe me, it’s that bad. Rebecca Forrester, the doctor’s assistant, wouldn’t say a word. But the receptionist talks as much as my dispatcher.”
“The nearest town where they have the facilities—”
“I’d rather go to Philadelphia, if you don’t mind.” She shouldn’t. After all, that was her home turf.
“That’s fine with me, but isn’t it a little out of the way for you?”
“Far enough that I won’t be worried about running into anyone who’ll carry the news back to Bedford Creek.” It was a small world, all right, but surely not that small. “I have a friend who’s on the staff of a city hospital. He can make sure we have it done quickly. And discreetly.” Though what Brett would say to him at this request, he didn’t want to imagine.
“This friend of yours—” she began.
“Brett’s a good physician. He wouldn’t jeopardize his career by tinkering with test results.”
She seemed to look at it from every angle before she nodded. “All right. Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow, it is.”
He forced his muscles to relax. Tomorrow, if luck was with him, a simple screening would prove he couldn’t possibly be the child’s father. Anne Morden would take her baby and walk back out of his life as quickly as she’d walked in.
He should be feeling relief. He definitely shouldn’t be feeling regret at the thought of never seeing her again.
Chapter Three
A nne made the turn from the Schulkyll Express-way toward center city and glanced across at her passenger. Mitch stared straight ahead, hands flexed on his knees. He wore khaki slacks and a button-down shirt today, his leather jacket thrown into the back seat, but even those clothes had a military aura.
Nothing in his posture indicated any uncertainty about her driving, but she was nevertheless sure that he’d rather be behind the wheel.
Well, that was too bad. Riding to Philadelphia together had been his idea, after all. He’d said his car was in the shop, and if she thought he wanted to drive the police car on an errand like this, she’d better think again. He’d ride down with her and get a rental car for the return.
The trip had been accomplished mostly in silence, except for the occasional chirps from Emilie in her car seat. Mitch probably had no desire to chat, anyway, and her thoughts had twisted all the way down the turnpike.
Was she doing the right thing? A blood test was the obvious solution, of course, and she’d recommended it often enough to clients. She just hadn’t anticipated the need in this situation. She’d assumed a man in Mitch’s position, faced with the results of a casual fling, would be only too happy to sign the papers and put his mistake behind him.
But it hadn’t worked out that way, and his willingness to undergo the blood test lent credence to his denials. She was almost tempted to believe him.
What was she thinking? He had to be Emilie’s father, didn’t he? Tina would certainly know, and Tina had said so.
They passed a sign directing them to the hospital, and her nerves tightened. Maybe she shouldn’t have agreed to let Mitch make the arrangements, but it sounded sensible, the way he had put it. They could be assured speed and secrecy through his connection.
“I hope your friend is ready for us.” She glanced at her watch. Dr. Brett Elliot had given them an afternoon appointment, and they should be right on time.
“He’ll be there.” Mitch’s granite expression cracked in a reminiscent smile. “In high school Brett was always the one with the late assignment and the joke that made the teacher laugh so she didn’t penalize him. But medical school reformed him. You’d hardly guess he was once the class clown.”
Somehow the title didn’t sound very reassuring. She glanced sideways at Mitch, registering again his size and strength. “Let me guess. You must have been the class’s star athlete.”
He shrugged. “Something like that, I guess.”
The hospital parking garage loomed on her right. Anne pulled in, the sandwich she’d had for lunch turning into a lead ball in her stomach. In an hour or two, she might know for sure about Emilie’s father.
Mitch’s friend had said he’d be waiting at the lab desk. Actually, he seemed to be leaning on it. Unruly hair the color of antique gold tumbled into his eyes as he laughed down at the woman behind the desk. So this was the boy who’d charmed everyone—all grown up and still doing it, apparently.
“Mitch!” He crossed the room in a few long strides and pumped Mitch’s hand. “Good to see you, guy. It’s been too long.”
Brett’s face, open and smiling, contrasted with Mitch’s closed, reserved look, but nothing could disguise the affection between them. Mitch clapped him on the shoulder before turning to Anne and introducing her.
Brett gave her the same warm grin he’d been giving the woman at the desk, but she thought she read wariness in his green eyes. Then he turned to Emilie, and all reservation vanished.
“Hey, there, pretty girl. What’s your name?”
“This is Emilie.”
“What a little sweetheart.” He tickled Emilie’s chin, and even the eight-month-old baby responded to him with a shy smile and a tilt of her head.
Brett gestured toward the orange vinyl chairs lining the empty waiting room. “Since we’ve got the place to ourselves, let’s have a chat about what we’re going to do.”
The woman behind the desk muttered an excuse and disappeared into the adjoining room. Anne took a seat, Emilie on her lap, and vague misgivings floated through her mind. These are Mitch’s arrangements, she cautioned herself. This is Mitch’s friend.
Brett pulled his chair around to face them. “The first step is to do a preliminary screening of blood type and Rh factors. We’ll be able to give you those results right away.”
“They’re not definitive in establishing paternity.” She didn’t mean to sound critical, but she’d handled enough cases to know it usually went farther than that.
“Not entirely.” Brett didn’t seem put off by her lawyer-like response. “But there are some combinations that can exclude the possibility of paternity, and that’s what we look for first.”
Another objection stirred in Anne’s mind. “Don’t you need the mother’s blood type to do that?”
“Yes, well, actually I got the information from the hospital where Emilie was born.”
He exchanged a quick glance with Mitch. Obviously they’d arranged that when they talked, too.
“My military records show my blood type.” Mitch frowned. “We could have gotten them.”
“This is faster than waiting for the military to send something,” Brett said, before Anne could voice an objection. “And in a legal matter, we can’t just rely on your word.”
Mitch’s mouth tightened, but he nodded.
“Okay, so if the screening rules Mitch out,” the doctor continued, “we stop there. If it doesn’t, that still means he’s one of maybe a million people who could be the father. So we go to DNA testing at that point. It takes longer, but it’ll establish paternity beyond any doubt.”
Emilie stirred restlessly on Anne’s lap, as if to remind her she’d had a long, upsetting couple of days. Anne stroked her head. “I understand.”
“Let’s get on with it.” Mitch seemed ready for action, and she half expected him to push up his sleeve on the spot.
“Fine.” Brett started toward the laboratory door.
Ready or not. Anne picked up Emilie and followed him, suddenly breathless. She’d know something, maybe soon.
Mitch’s stony expression didn’t change in the least when the technician plunged a needle into his hard-muscled arm. Emilie wasn’t so stoic. She stiffened, head thumping hard against Anne’s chest, and let out an anguished wail that tore into Anne’s heart.
“Hey, little girl.” Mitch’s voice was astonishingly gentle. One large hand wrapped around the baby’s flailing foot. “It’ll be over in a second, honest.”
When the needle was gone, Emilie’s sobs subsided, but Anne didn’t have any illusions. The baby was overtired and overstimulated, and she desperately needed to have her dinner and go to sleep. That wouldn’t hurt her mother any, either.
“It’s all right, darling.” She stroked Emilie’s fine blond hair. “We’ll go home soon.”
Brett nodded. “This won’t take long. Make yourselves comfortable in the waiting room, and I’ll bring you some coffee.”
A few minutes later they were back in the same chairs they’d occupied earlier. Anne tried to balance a wiggling Emilie while digging for a bottle of juice in the diaper bag. The juice remained elusive.
“Here, let me hold her.” Before she could object, Mitch took the baby from her. He bounced Emilie on his knees, rumpling the knife-sharp crease, his strong hands supporting the baby’s back.
The ache between Anne’s shoulder blades eased. She watched Mitch with the baby, realizing the ache had just shifted location to her heart. If Mitch was Emilie’s father…
She bent over the diaper bag to hide the tears that clouded her eyes. Ridiculous to feel them. Nothing had changed. She blinked rapidly and fished the juice bottle out.
“I’ll take her now.” She flipped the cap off and dropped it in the bag.
Mitch shook his head and reached for the bottle. “Give yourself a break for a few minutes. I can manage this.”
She leaned back, watching as he shifted Emilie’s position and plopped the nipple into her mouth.
“You didn’t learn that in…the Army, was it?”
He nodded. “Military Police. Matter of fact, I did. A couple of my buddies had families.”
She thought she heard a note of censure in his voice. “You have something against that?”
His eyes met hers, startled, and then he shrugged. “Up to them. I just never figured family mixed very well with military police work.”
Emilie snuggled against him, fingers curling and uncurling on the bottle, eyes beginning to droop.
“I see you hung around enough to learn how to give a bottle.”
His face relaxed in a smile. The effect was startling, warming his whole countenance and demanding an answering smile she couldn’t suppress.
“Not too difficult. Besides, I could always give the babies back if they got fussy.”
“Of course.”
Something hardened in her at the words. The three of them might look, to the casual observer, like a family. That observer couldn’t begin to guess how skewed that impression was.
Emilie had fallen asleep in Mitch’s arms by the time Brett pushed through the door, a clipboard in his hand. Anne inhaled sharply and saw Mitch’s already erect posture stiffen even more.
“Well?” Mitch’s voice rasped. “What’s the verdict?”
Brett’s green eyes were troubled. “Skipping all the technical details, the bottom line is the tests don’t exclude you, Mitch. Your blood type means you could possibly be the father.”
“Me and a million other guys,” he snapped.
Anne’s mouth tightened. He’d obviously been hoping against hope he hadn’t been caught. Maybe now he’d give up this pose of innocence and sign the papers. But she had to show him she’d keep pressing.
“About the DNA test—” she pinned Brett with her gaze “—I’d like it sent to McKay Labs. I’ve dealt with them before. And I want a copy of the results sent directly to me.”
Brett blinked. “That’ll need Mitch’s permission.”
“You’ve got it.” Mitch moved, and Emilie woke. Her whimper quickly turned into a full-fledged cry.
Brett looked ready to escape. “Expect the results in three to four weeks, then.”
Anne nodded goodbye, trying to reach for the diaper bag and her crying child at the same time. “Let me have her.”
Mitch handed over the baby.
“There, sweetheart, it’s all right.” She rocked the baby against her, but Emilie was beyond comforting. She reared back in Anne’s arms, wails increasing.
Mitch picked up the diaper bag. “You can’t drive home alone with her in that state.” He took her arm. “Come on. I’ll drive you and then call a cab.”
She wanted to protest, but Emilie’s sobs shattered her will. She nodded, letting him guide her from the room.
The baby’s wails seemed to fry Mitch’s brain as he followed Anne’s directions through the city streets to a high-rise apartment building. He needed to think this whole thing through, but thought proved impossible at the moment. Who would imagine one small baby could make that much noise?
He took a deep breath as the cry reached a decibel level that had to be against the law inside a small car. Okay, he could handle this. It was no worse than artillery fire, was it?
Besides, it would soon be over. He’d deposit them at Anne’s and call a cab. He’d be back in Bedford Creek in a few hours, and the only contact he’d have with Anne Morden and her baby would be when the DNA test came back, proving he hadn’t fathered this child.
A padded, mirrored elevator whooshed them swiftly to the tenth floor. He took the baby, wincing at her cries, while Anne unlocked the door. He wanted only to hand her back and get out of there.
She scooped the baby into her arms as the door swung open, and her eyes met his. “This may not be the best time, but I think we should talk the situation over, if you don’t mind waiting while I get the baby settled.” She managed a half smile. “It won’t take as long as you might think. She’s so exhausted, she’s going to crash as soon as she’s been fed.”
He pushed down the desire to flee, nodded, and followed her into the apartment. Anne disappeared into the back with the baby, and he sank onto the couch, wondering when the ringing in his ears would stop.
Anne had sold the house she’d talked about and moved here with the baby. He’d found that out in the quick background check he’d run. He glanced around. Expensively casual—that was the only way to describe her apartment. Chintz couches, a soft plush carpet, a wall of books on built-in shelves with what was probably a state-of-the-art entertainment center discreetly hidden behind closed doors—all said money. Assistant public defenders didn’t make enough to support this life-style, but there was wealth in her family. This woman was really out of his league.
No question of that, anyway. All she wanted from him was his signature on the parental rights termination—not friendship, certainly nothing more.
Sometime in the last twenty-four hours he’d given up any thought that Anne was somehow attempting to frame him. No, all she wanted was to safeguard her child.
Unfortunately the one thing she wanted, he couldn’t give her. Someone else had dated the unfortunate Tina; someone else had fathered her child. But who? And why on earth had the girl said his name? The answers, if they could be found at all, must lie in Bedford Creek.
The baby’s cries from the back of the apartment ceased abruptly. Anne must have put some food in Emilie’s mouth.
He got up, paced to the window, then paced back. What did Anne want to talk to him about? What was there left to say?
He sat back down on the couch, sinking into its comfortable depths, and reached automatically for the book on the lamp table. A Bible. It nestled into his hand, and he flipped it open to the dedication page. To my new sister in Christ from Helen. The date was only two years ago.
Anne came back into the room, her step light and quick. She glanced questioningly at the Bible in his hand, and he closed it and put it back where he’d found it.
“She settled down, did she?”
“Out like a light.”
