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Little Girl Found
Jo Leigh


Strong, silent typeWhen a child was dropped on ex-detective Jac McCabe's doorstep, he voxed to guard her with his life. She had no one to claim her–except sexy caregiver Hailey Bishop. And both vulnerable ladies needed his protection from killers tying up loose ends–killers who might be dirty cops…In need of healing…Jack worried he wasn't the right man for this job–not since the accident that had stripped him of his badge, his life. But together they formed a fugitive family, working to keep one another safe…and Jack felt whole for the first time in years. Maybe he was the one who'd been found and rescued after all.









Watching Jack and the child stirred something deep inside Hailey.


Of course her maternal instincts were in high gear around Megan, but it was watching Jack that gave her the lump in her throat. He was so big he could pick Megan up with one hand, like a football. And yet he was so tender with her. Maybe out of fear, or maybe because of his good heart. Probably a combination of both.

He didn’t know it, but he’d make a wonderful father. For a boy or a girl. Hailey could see the signs, and it made her wish for a crazy second that Jack could live with them permanently. Megan needed him.

And so did she.


Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

The thrills never stop at Harlequin Intrigue. This month, get geared up for danger and desire in double helpings!

There’s something about a mysterious man that makes him all the more appealing. In The Silent Witness (#565), Alex Coughlin is just such a man on assignment and undercover. But can he conceal his true feelings for Nicki Michaels long enough to catch a killer? Join Dani Sinclair and find out as she returns to FOOLS POINT.

The search for the truth is Clay Jackson’s only focus—until he learns the woman he never stopped loving was keeping the biggest secret of all…a baby. See why Intimate Secrets (#566) are the deepest with author B.J. Daniels.

Patricia Rosemoor winds up her SONS OF SILVER SPRINGS miniseries this month. Reed is the last Quarrels brother to go the way of the altar as he enters a marriage of convenience with the one woman he thought he’d never have, in A Rancher’s Vow (#567).

Finally, welcome multitalented author Jo Leigh as she contributes her first Harlequin Intrigue title, Little Girl Found (#568). She also begins a three-month bonanza of books! Look for her titles from Harlequin American Romance (June) and Harlequin Temptation (July). You won’t be sorry.

Gripping tales of mystery, suspense that never lets up and sizzling romance to boot. Pick up all four titles for the total Harlequin Intrigue experience.

Sincerely,

Denise O’Sullivan

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue


Little Girl Found

Jo Leigh






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Jo Leigh currently lives just outside Las Vegas, Nevada, where she still can’t get used to the slot machines in the grocery stores. Storytelling has always been a part of her life, whether as a producer in Hollywood, a screenwriter or a novelist. It probably began when she told her third-grade teacher that elephants ate her homework.




Books by Jo Leigh


HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

568—LITTLE GIRL FOUND

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

695—QUICK, FIND A RING!

731—HUSBAND 101

736—DADDY 101

749—IF WISHES WERE…DADDIES

768—CAN’T RESIST A COWBOY

832—DOCTOR, DARLING

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

674—ONE WICKED NIGHT

699—SINGLE SHERIFF SEEKS…

727—TANGLED SHEETS










CAST OF CHARACTERS


Jack McCabe—The injured detective withdrew from the world—until a woman and child needed his protection.

Hailey Bishop—Her sexy neighbor had always seemed unapproachable. Then he showed up with a little girl in his arms and panic on his face.

Megan Chandler—The four-year-old had a secret.

Roy Chandler—Megan’s father left her with the only man he knew he could trust.

Bob Dorran—Jack had to take a chance and ask for this officer’s help.

Craig Faraday—The businessman knew Roy by another name. What did Roy know about him?

Crystal McCabe—Jack’s dramatic ex-wife would still help him in a pinch.

Brett Nichols—Is he a cop, or a wolf in sheep’s clothing?

Frank O’Neill—Would Jack’s former partner turn on him?


For Paulie Rose—I love you, sweetie!




Contents


Chapter One (#u3752e597-c108-5b80-8633-b3a8cd0c3748)

Chapter Two (#uea0aee0e-b344-5c29-a909-39f9ee59d938)

Chapter Three (#u14ae4215-68b8-5d77-ab03-fa23aabe6150)

Chapter Four (#u3614ae53-f0fa-5ef4-8691-4e8fc5629308)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One


If the SOB said the Bulls “was robbed” one more time, Jack was going to get his gun and shoot the damn television. He should probably do it, anyway. Before, he’d never really watched it that much. A ball game here, a documentary there. But never sitcoms, and never daytime shows. He was convinced daytime television was a plot to destroy the minds of wastrels who weren’t working days like good soldiers. The only show worth a damn was Jeopardy, but lately he could never seem to get the final question right. Probably a sign of his diminishing mental capacity. His brain was turning to mush, just like his body.

Jack grabbed his long-necked Corona and took a swig of the warm brew. It was late, and he should go to bed. Maybe tonight he’d sleep. Maybe he wouldn’t lie there in the dark, listening to the low vibrations of his downstairs neighbor’s rap music, or the happy couple in 3F who liked to serenade each other with the most vile curses he’d ever heard. And that was saying something for a twelve-year veteran of the Houston PD.

And maybe tonight he wouldn’t think about the way things were now. Or the way things used to be.

He got the remote from the side pocket of the recliner that had become his home and started flipping channels. Once he was away from the sports channel, it was one “infomercial” after another, each selling some contraption he didn’t want or couldn’t use. A potato peeler. An ab cruncher. Richard Simmons weeping in the embrace of one of his acolytes.

He kept pushing the button until he found a show in black and white. He didn’t have to go further. It didn’t matter what the movie was. Sighing, he tried to get comfortable again, which wasn’t so easy. His hip ached, a throb that had become his constant companion. His bum leg lay unnaturally stiff, as if it was made of plastic, instead of flesh and bone.

But then he saw Richard Widmark in a wide-lapeled suit, his hat at a rakish angle and his smile as wicked as the devil’s pet cat. It occurred to Jack that a fresh beer would hit the spot, and maybe a salami sandwich. But that would mean getting up. He wasn’t that thirsty.

THE POUNDING ON HIS DOOR sent a jolt of adrenaline through his body and jump-started his heart. The first thing he noticed was that the television show was in color. He looked at his watch. Four-eighteen. Who the hell would bang on his door at four-eighteen in the morning?

The pounding quickened into the sound of desperation. Jack grabbed his cane, resting all his weight on the sturdy wood as he struggled to stand. The pain in his hip made him grimace, but he did it, taking a second to adjust his balance. “Hold on, dammit,” he said, but not loud enough to be heard over the fist on wood.

He lurched to the table and picked up his weapon, his thumb resting on the safety. Then he made his way to the door. He looked through the peephole and saw the distorted face of a man, someone familiar, but he couldn’t place him. He leaned on his good leg, resting the cane against his bad leg, and then opened the door.

“McCabe,” the man said, his voice so high with tension he sounded like a woman. “Thank God!”

Jack’s gaze moved down to the two bundles in the man’s arms. One of them was a child, wrapped up in a quilt. The other was a stuffed pillowcase. He looked once more at his visitor and remembered where he’d seen him before. “Roy.”

“Yeah, Roy. Roy Chandler. From downstairs. Listen, man,” he said, edging his way inside, “I need your help.”

“I’m on medical leave. You’ll have to call the department.”

“No, not that. I…it’s my wife. She’s hurt. Real bad. I need to get to the hospital.”

“You want my car?” Jack asked, confused.

Roy held the kid out, pushing the bundle against Jack’s chest. Jack grabbed hold with his free arm, instinctively, surprised at the weight. His cane fell, bouncing off the door frame. “What the hell?” he said, trying not to bounce off the door frame himself.

“I have to get to the hospital,” Roy said, dropping the pillowcase by Jack’s feet. “Now. I can’t wait and I can’t take her with me. I’ll be back. An hour. Two at the most.” Roy stepped back quickly, moving neatly out of range. He looked behind him, down toward the parking lot. Then he turned again to face Jack, the desperation that had made his voice so high now in his eyes. “I’ll be back,” he said. “Take care of her. She’s all…” He didn’t finish, just turned and darted toward the staircase.

“Hey!” Jack started forward, but realized instantly it was a mistake. The pain in his hip almost doubled him over, and it was all he could do not to drop the child. When he was finally able to stand again, Roy was halfway down to the parking lot.

Jack hobbled to the couch and used his free arm to balance himself. He swept last Thursday’s Chronicle to the floor, then put the kid down, moving the quilt aside to make sure the small bundle was in fact a living, breathing child. It was. A girl. Maybe four or five. Blond hair a mess of curls, pale skin with pink lips. Amazingly enough, she was sound asleep. He wondered how she could do that.

He’d think about that later. For now, he had to try to catch Roy Chandler. He turned, and even that small motion had to be timed, weighed carefully, planned and executed with a deliberation that made Jack sure he’d found hell and moved in. A trickle of sweat itched at the back of his neck, but he couldn’t walk and chew gum at the same time, let alone pick up his cane, hold his gun and rub his neck. His focus remained on the cane and he forced himself forward. Step by bloody step until he reached the door.

He put his gun in the waistband of his pants so he could grab hold of the door while he bent for his cane. He felt as if he were using someone else’s body—an old man’s, weak and brittle. The joke was, inside he still felt like the basketball player he’d been in college. The cop who’d aced the obstacle course at the academy. The man he’d been only four short months ago.

He straightened and shifted his weight to the cane. He looked back, but the kid hadn’t moved. Then he went outside, the cold wet of the Houston night a jarring contrast to the cozy heat in his apartment.

Looking down over the balcony, he saw that Roy hadn’t gotten into his car yet. He stood under the light from the pole behind him, staring at a car pulling into the lot. As Jack hobbled toward the stairs, he kept checking on Roy and then shifted his attention to the car. A Ford Taurus, dark, two men in the front. He relaxed, recognizing the unmarked police car. HPD had half a dozen just like it for the vice boys.

Knowing they’d check out Roy and hold him for a while, Jack slowed his pace, but didn’t stop. As he reached the staircase, he realized he hadn’t asked what hospital Roy’s wife was in or what had happened to her. Why in hell he’d have to leave his kid behind, especially with him. Jack didn’t know spit about kids, except that they were noisy and they usually smelled bad.

The steps weren’t easy for him, and he had to lean on the railing just the right way. As he lowered his bad leg, he heard two short pops, and he froze, except for his thumb which released the safety on his gun almost of its own accord. The sound was unmistakable. Gunshots through a silencer.

He looked down to see Roy on the ground, a dark stain spreading on his chest. The cop in the passenger seat jumped out of the car and bent over to evaluate his work.

Jack’s every instinct urged him to hurry. To find out what the hell was going on. This was bad. It was bad in a way he could feel all the way to his bones. Cops didn’t shoot like that. Not an unarmed man.

But he couldn’t hurry. The best he could do was take the steps one at a time, forcing the pain to the back of his mind to be remembered in vivid detail later. He watched the cop stand and head back for the car. “Hey! Wait!”

But either the cop didn’t hear him or he didn’t care, because he just kept on going. Even though Jack tried like hell, he couldn’t make out the guy’s features. The way he stood, he was more of a shadow than a man, and then he was back in the car. The driver hit the gas so hard the car lurched forward, tires squealing.

A light went on in the apartment on Jack’s left, and then a woman’s head poked out the door. She looked at him with terror in her eyes.

“Call 911,” he said. “Now.”

Her head snapped back and the door slammed shut, and he could hear the dead bolt click as he finally reached the parking lot. He hoped the woman would do as he asked, but from the way Roy looked, she didn’t have to rush. Jack could see the unnatural attitude of the body, the crooked way Roy’s head lay.

Cursing his luck, he made his way over, and as he moved next to Roy he saw the dark pool of blood blossom around the motionless arms and chest. A man’s life seeping into the filthy asphalt.

Then he saw a movement. One he hadn’t expected. Roy’s head tilted to the left, and Jack saw his eyes open, then close. Jack bent his good leg, holding on to the cane with all his might as he eased down to his knees. It hurt like hell, but Roy was alive. Trying to say something.

“Protect her…” he said, his voice as whispery as a ghost. “Get the money. Don’t…” He stopped, frozen in a seizure, then relaxing nearer to death. “The cops…Don’t…”

The last word was drowned in a sickening gurgle, and Roy was gone. Jack put his hand to Roy’s neck, checking the jugular for a pulse. Nothing. Stone-cold nothing.

Jack looked back at the apartment building. Several lights were on now, although no one had come outside. They all stayed behind their plywood doors, as if that could keep them safe. He heard a distant siren, which, he supposed, was all he had a right to expect.

If he hadn’t been caught so off guard, he never would have let Roy leave his kid behind. He’d never have let Roy leave at all, at least not until he understood what was going on. But he had been caught, and he had taken the kid and let the father go. So while everyone else in the building stayed inside, peeking through parted curtains, he was left with a kid, a body and one hell of a question. Why had the cops gunned down Roy Chandler in cold blood?

It took him a couple of awkward minutes to stand again. By that time, a patrol car, familiar blue, arrived. The car stopped a couple of hundred feet away, so the cops wouldn’t contaminate the crime scene. The doors opened and Jack recognized Bill Haggart immediately, just from the way the man stood.

Haggart was an old-timer who’d never managed to pass the sergeant’s exam. He’d gotten Jack out of a scrape or two through the years, and while Jack didn’t consider him the brightest bulb in the chandelier, he was a good cop who understood the street.

“Bored, were you?” Haggart said as he gave Roy’s body a once-over.

“Yeah,” Jack said, wishing like hell he could sit down. “Finished all my crossword puzzles.”

Jack didn’t know the driver of the patrol car well. Fetzer was his name. Paul Fetzer. Young guy, Nordic-looking with his white-blond hair and pale skin. Jack had heard he was a hot dog, looking to get into homicide, but just like everyone else, he needed to do his time. Putting him with Haggart was probably good for both of them.

“What happened?” Paul asked, moving next to Haggart. “You know him?”

“He lives in the building,” Jack said. “I’ve seen him around.”

“You see who did this?” Haggart asked, his voice dramatically sharper now that Paul was listening.

Jack decided right then that he wasn’t going to tell them about the unmarked car. He wasn’t sure why, just a feeling. He’d learned to listen to his gut reactions. At least most of the time. The bullet in his hip was a good reminder of what happened when he didn’t. “I saw a car. It was too dark to make out anything much. It was a sedan, late model. They used a silencer. I heard two shots.”

“They?” Paul repeated. “There was more than one?”

Jack nodded. “Driver and passenger. Both males. I couldn’t see if they were Caucasians. The light hit the car wrong, and all I got were shadows. I couldn’t run after them to get the license plate.”

“Pardon me for being blunt,” Haggart said, “but you look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean it. The ambulance should be here any second. Maybe you should let the paramedics take a look at you.”

“I’m fine. You might as well call them off. Get someone from the medical examiner’s office down here.”

“Did you touch anything?” Paul asked as he moved closer to Roy and crouched down. He pulled out his flashlight, and focused the beam on Roy’s chest. It looked to Jack like it had been a large-caliber weapon. There was a hell of a lot of damage.

“I touched his neck for a pulse,” Jack said. “That’s it.”

“How’d you happen to see this?” Haggart asked.

“Insomnia,” Jack answered, not lying exactly. Just not telling the whole story.

“Out for a walk at this time of night?”

He shook his head. “I heard something. I came outside, saw the car, heard the shots. By the time I made it down the stairs, Roy here was dead and the car was long gone.”

“Roy what?”

“Chandler. I think he lived on the second floor. Around back.”

The ambulance came screaming into the parking lot, but the driver cut the siren immediately, filling the night with an echo of sadness. Jack shifted a bit, which was a mistake. He winced and sucked in a sharp breath.

Haggart moved closer to him, probably worried that he was goning to fall on his face. “Why don’t you go on up,” he said, his voice concerned. “We can take care of things down here. We know where to find you tomorrow.”

Jack didn’t take long to decide. He needed to sit down. Take a pill. Make sure the kid upstairs hadn’t fallen off the couch. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll be around.”

A female paramedic Jack didn’t know circled the police car and knelt beside Roy. She put her kit next to her knee and gestured to Paul to back off. The young cop did as she asked, but he didn’t seem real happy to be brushed aside.

Jack didn’t give a damn. He had his own problems. He nodded to Haggart, then started the long voyage home. Walking across the parking lot was hard enough. The stairs were going to be murder.

THE KID WAS STILL SLEEPING when he got back. After three pain pills and about half an hour of sitting still on the lounger, Jack was able to stand again. He crossed to the girl, noticing for the first time that she had a doll clutched in her right hand. It wasn’t a very nice doll. The hair was all ratty, with big holes in the scalp where the strands had been tied. One eye was open, the other closed in a perpetual wink. There was a stain on the doll’s cheek that looked like blue ink.

What a damn mess. He didn’t like dirty cops, and he didn’t like cryptic deathbed messages, and he didn’t like the fact that the sun was going to rise any minute and he hadn’t slept. The kid was going to wake up eventually, and she’d want to know where her parents were, and she’d cry and carry on and…oh, hell. Jack made it back to the lounger and sank gratefully onto the cushion. The smart thing to do was call family services as soon as possible. Go to the captain and tell him what he heard and what he saw. End this thing before it went any further.

Even if there was a crime to be solved, he wasn’t the man to solve it. Not anymore. Not with this body. All he was good for was watching daytime television.

HE WOKE UP to a pair of blue eyes. Big round blue eyes, inches from his face. The kid was up and she’d climbed onto his lap, somehow avoiding his bad hip. One inch to the right, and he’d have been one sorry ex-cop.

“Where’s my daddy?”

The girl had her doll under one arm and her quilt under the other. She looked amazingly calm, as if she woke up in a stranger’s house all the time.

“I have to go potty.”

Perfect. She had to go potty. He had no idea what that entailed—well, except for the fundamentals, of course. Was he supposed to help her? Lead her to the bathroom and leave? Change her diaper?

She wasn’t wearing a diaper. He could see that from the way her Little Mermaid pajamas fit. “Climb down,” he said. “Carefully.”

She obeyed him, moving slowly and cautiously until she stood next to the chair, but she never took her eyes off him, not even for a second.

“Can you do it by yourself?”

“What?”

“Can you go potty by yourself?”

She nodded, the curls on her head waving with the movement.

Jack pointed to the hallway. “It’s right over there,” he said. “Just walk down the hall.”

She blinked at him, then turned, her quilt trailing behind her as she padded toward the bathroom. He focused on his own problem: getting up and making coffee. He swallowed another pill, then went to the kitchen for a water chaser. His leg felt stiffer than usual, but he expected that. The doctors had said the pain would be temporary, lasting just a few months. In his opinion, four was more than a few. So when was this miraculous recovery supposed to kick in?

At least he’d gotten his morning routine worked out. He’d set up the kitchen to require the fewest steps necessary. Coffee, filters, the machine, all next to the sink. After he finished pouring and counting, he checked his watch. Seven-thirty. He’d call family services at eight.

He heard a shuffle and looked in the living room. The girl stood by the hallway, staring at him. “Where’s my daddy?” she asked again.

He didn’t know what to say. How to say it. The kid was so young.

She blinked a few times, as if she was trying to get him into focus. “I want Hailey,” she said.

Hailey. Who the hell was—“You mean that woman down the hall? The blond lady?”

The girl nodded. “Hailey. She’s my baby-sitter.”

“Hailey,” he repeated, thinking about where he’d seen her. In the laundry room, that was it. A couple of months ago. With the kid. She’d helped him carry his clothes upstairs. “Let’s go see Hailey, okay?”

The kid nodded. “Is my daddy there?”

“We’ll see,” he said, chickening out. He started toward her, and she went to the door. She put her doll on the floor and grasped the doorknob. It took her a few tries, but she got the door open, and then she picked up her doll again. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t look scared. She waited patiently for him to reach her side and then closed the door behind them.

Something wasn’t right. He didn’t know much about kids, but even he knew she ought to be scared out of her wits.

She led him down the walkway, past the five doors that separated his place from Hailey’s. Then she stopped. Shifted her doll under her arm and put her thumb in her mouth.

Jack knocked on Hailey’s door. Checked the kid, then knocked again, praying the woman was home. Then he heard the dead bolt slip and the door swung open.

She was still in her bathrobe. She looked at him with a question in her eyes, then she saw the girl. “Megan!”

“Is my daddy here?”

Hailey’s gaze moved back to Jack. “What’s going on?”

“Can we talk?”

Her brow furrowed with concern, but she didn’t press him. She picked Megan up, then held the door open for him. The second he walked inside, he knew he’d done the right thing. The kid would feel safe here. Hell, he felt safe here. And he hadn’t felt safe in about a hundred years.




Chapter Two


Hailey Bishop closed the door and turned to her guest. She recognized him, although she didn’t remember his name. John or Jack or something like that. She also knew he was a police officer, although she’d never seen him in a uniform.

He stood in the middle of her living room, leaning on his cane, favoring his left leg. She wondered if he’d been hurt on the job, but then Megan tightened her grip on her throat and Hailey forgot about the policeman’s problems. “What happened?” she asked him as she rubbed Megan’s back to calm her down.

He shook his head, and she realized he didn’t want to speak in front of the child. She didn’t like this. Her stomach clenched and the hairs on the back of her neck bristled. Even so, she smiled as she walked near the television and lowered Megan to the floor. Gently she took the girl’s quilt out of her hand and spread it on the carpet. “What kind of juice do you want?”

Megan thought a moment. “Apple.”

“Apple it is.” Hailey turned on the television, changing the channel until she found cartoons. Then she went to the kitchen and got one of the juice boxes she kept on hand. By the time she got back, the little girl was sitting cross-legged, her doll tucked safely into her lap. When Hailey handed her the juice, the girl smiled, then went back to watching Tom and Jerry.

Hailey turned to the policeman. He really didn’t look good. Aside from his obvious discomfort, his cheeks seemed hollow and his skin pale. He hadn’t shaved for a while and his dark stubble made him look gruff and hard. But his eyes told her something different. His gaze was on Megan, and the way he looked at her said worlds about the man. The little one was in some kind of trouble and he knew it. More than that, he was concerned about her.

As she signaled him to join her in the kitchen, she looked beyond the stubble and the brooding eyes. She’d thought he was handsome the first time she’d seen him, and that hadn’t changed. She wanted to know what had happened to him, whether someone was taking care of him. But that was for later.

He made it to her dining room and sat down heavily in the first chair he came to. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Standing must hurt.

“Coffee?” she asked.

He nodded. “That would be great.”

“How do you like it?”

“Black,” he said, watching her keenly as she went into the kitchen. “I’m Jack McCabe,” he said. “I’ve seen you around.”

“Yes, I recognized you, too. I didn’t know you knew Roy and Megan.”

“I don’t. I mean, I’ve seen him a few times, said hello, but that’s all.”

She poured the coffee into two mugs and brought them to the table. He took his with a grateful but worried smile. “So what happened?” she asked.

“Did you hear the sirens this morning?”

She nodded. “I didn’t realize they were at the complex. I’m so used to hearing them these days.”

“They were here, all right. Roy,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper, “was killed this morning.”

Hailey almost dropped her mug. She put it down on the table as she fought for breath. “Killed? Are you sure?”

Jack nodded. “I’m sure.”

“How?” she asked too loudly. Moving closer to Jack, she asked again, “How?”

“He was shot.”

“What? Were you there? Was Megan there?”

He shook his head. “Megan was safe. She didn’t see a thing. It wasn’t a random shooting. Whoever killed him did it on purpose.”

“Oh, my God,” Hailey said, more to herself than to Jack. She couldn’t quite wrap her head around this horrific piece of news. Roy, dead? It was too absurd to be true. “How did you get Megan?”

“I didn’t have much choice. Roy came to my door this morning. He shoved her at me, then ran off. He said he had to go to the hospital. That his wife was sick.”

“Wife? He’s not married. His wife died several years ago.”

Jack looked over at Megan, sitting so quietly. Somehow he wasn’t surprised that Roy had lied. “Does she have any other family?”

“I think so. But not here in Houston. There might be an aunt in Florida. What did the police say?”

“Not much. But I’m gonna go to the station this morning and find out all I can.”

“You want me to watch her?”

He nodded. “Until I can get social services out here.”

The thought of Megan being surrounded by strangers, even well-meaning strangers, was unbearable. “No, please,” Hailey said. “Don’t call them. I’ll watch her.”

“That’s fine for today, but at some point…”

“Let’s deal with that later. After Megan has some time to get used to…” She sighed. “Poor little thing.”

“Yeah,” he said. “It stinks.”

“Do you have any of her things? Her clothes?”

“There’s a pillowcase stuffed with her things back at my place. I haven’t looked in it.”

“What do you say we do that now? I want to get her dressed, and then I’ll fix her some breakfast.”

“You don’t have to go to work?”

She shook her head. “I work here, out of my apartment. I design web sites.”

Jack looked at her again, more carefully this time. She was sort of attractive, but that wasn’t what drew him to her. There was a calmness about her, a serenity, that he’d never felt from another person before. No wonder Megan had wanted to come here.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He shook his head. “We’d better go.”

She gave him a questioning look, one that forced him to focus on her eyes. Blue, very blue. And kind. He could see where a man would go for a woman like her.

“I’ll go dress and be right back,” she said. “There’s more coffee if you want it.”

He nodded as she headed for her bedroom. When she was gone, his gaze moved to the girl. She seemed calm. But what did he know?

As he waited for Hailey to return, he tapped his fingers on the tabletop, thinking about this morning. About the Taurus. Maybe it hadn’t been an HPD vehicle. It was dark. He wasn’t exactly at his mental peak. It certainly didn’t make sense. He knew most of the cops, at least from downtown. No one he knew would have done something so blatantly illegal. So if it wasn’t cops, then who? Roy had known someone was after him.

Hailey came back, dressed in worn blue jeans and a pale blue sweater that buttoned down the front. The outfit showed off her curves very nicely. She went straight to Megan. “What do you say we go get dressed?”

Megan looked up. “It’s bath time after Sesame Street.”

“I see,” Hailey said. “Perhaps Mr. McCabe will let us use his bathtub.”

Megan looked at him briefly, then back to Hailey. “I want to go home.”

Hailey picked the girl up. “Gosh, you’re getting so big!” she said. “Pretty soon, you’ll be taller than this whole building!”

Megan giggled.

“We can’t go home, sweet pea,” Hailey said, her voice as soft as a feather pillow. “Not just yet.”

Megan didn’t respond. She simply laid her head on Hailey’s shoulder.

Jack stood up, glad he’d taken that extra pain pill. His hip hurt, but not too badly. As Hailey walked to the door, he headed for the quilt and the doll, still on the floor in front of the television.

“Oh, wait,” she said, guessing what he was about to do. “I’ll get those.”

“I can do it.” A quick flash of anger seared his insides. “Just take care of the kid.”

“Sorry.”

He hadn’t meant to be so gruff with her. But dammit, he wasn’t totally helpless. To show her, he leaned over his cane neatly and came up again with Megan’s things.

“That didn’t hurt?” she asked.

He shrugged. “It’s not so bad.”

She sighed as she turned to the door. “It must be hard to be so macho all the time.”

He grinned. “Later, if you’re nice, I’ll crush a beer can on my forehead for you.”

“I don’t know if my girlish heart could take it.”

He made his way slowly out the door, grateful the woman had a sense of humor. He had the feeling she’d need it.

HAILEY PUT MEGAN DOWN beside Jack’s recliner. The room was so dark it was hard to believe it was daytime. It reminded her of a bear’s cave, albeit one with a large-screen television set as a centerpiece. There wasn’t a picture on the wall or even a plant. Old newspapers were piled up beside the couch, and empty beer bottles, three of them, sat on the small table by his chair. The place needed a good cleaning and a lot more light.

“There’s the pillowcase,” he said, pointing to the end of the couch. “I guess you can take her back to your place, huh?”

She smiled at him, making a decision that second. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to bathe her here.”

Jack looked at her as if she was nuts. “Why?”

“I’d just feel better waiting with her here. Until you get back.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. The bathtub is pretty clean. There are towels in the cupboard. He turned and walked down the hall to his bedroom.

His apartment was identical to hers, at least architecturally. But where hers was a warm nest, his was a place to hide from the world. She wondered again how he’d been hurt. And how awful it must be for a man as virile as him to be trapped in a broken body.

She noticed a book peeking out from underneath the TV guide, and her curiosity got the better of her. She lifted the guide and saw that it was a paperback edition of The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway. Interesting.

Jack came back a second after she stopped snooping. He’d changed into a plain white business shirt, open at the collar, but he still wore his jeans. He also had on a leather jacket, and with his somehow dangerous face and those deep brown eyes, she felt a shock of physical awareness hit her where it counted.

“Here,” he said. He held out a piece of paper to her. She took it but she didn’t look at it. She was too busy wondering about her reaction to him. He wasn’t her usual type. She liked kind men, calm men. Men who called their mothers on Sunday nights.

“My pager number,” he said. “Just in case.”

All her wayward thoughts vanished in the blink of an eye as she was brought back to the moment by a dose of cold reality. There was a killer loose. A murderer. “You don’t think…”

“Just in case you need me to bring home some milk or something.”

“Right,” she said, not believing him. She took Megan’s hand in hers, while Jack adjusted his jacket, and it was then she caught sight of his gun, neatly holstered against his rib cage. It shook her to realize it was a real gun, capable of killing, meant to kill. She’d never been this close to a gun before.

“Are you going to tell her?” he asked, lowering his voice, even though Megan was right there.

She squeezed Megan’s hand gently. “Yes. Now go on. Find out what you can. We’ll be here when you get back.”

He looked at them one more time, then made his way to the door. She wondered how he was going to drive, but it didn’t seem prudent to bring that up. Instead, she led Megan down the hall to the bathroom, listening for the sound of the door shutting and his key in the lock. She heard both, and she breathed a little easier. Although she didn’t think she would relax completely until this whole thing got straightened out.

Who would want to kill Roy Chandler? He’d always seemed like such a nice man. He paid her generously for baby-sitting. He certainly loved Megan. Perhaps Jack was wrong, and it was just one of those horrible mistakes, a drive-by shooting or something.

It didn’t matter really, not to the little one. Either way, her father was dead. She had no one now. Not even an aunt in Florida. Hailey hadn’t liked lying to Jack, but there was no way she would let social services take this child away.

Megan put her doll on the sink counter, then pulled off her pajama top. That spurred Hailey to start the water running in the tub. She got down on her knees and tested the temperature until she got it right.

She had to admit the bathroom was cleaner than she’d imagined. Except for the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition on the floor, it was very nicely put together. Clean towels, a sparkling sink, and the tub was spick-and-span.

Megan had finished undressing, and now she stood next to Hailey, waiting. Leaning slightly against her. Just touching. But, bless her heart, she appeared quite stoic and ready to get down to business.

Hailey put her in the tub, and for the first few minutes they both concentrated on washing Megan. The soap wasn’t Hailey’s usual brand, but Megan liked the scent. The bath was a quiet affair, which was unsettling. The girl loved taking baths and usually she talked Hailey’s ear off. Not today. She finished quickly, not dawdling to play. She stood up in the tub, her body shiny and innocent, her eyes wide with muted fear. “Are we going to see my daddy now?”

Hailey couldn’t put it off any longer. But, oh, how she wished she didn’t have to shatter this little bunny. She got the big blue towel from the rack, then reached for Megan and lifted her out of the tub. Quickly, before Megan could get a chill, she wrapped the towel around her. Hailey rubbed her legs and arms to make her dry and warm, and then she put her arms around her. “Sweet pea,” she began, making sure her voice was as tender and safe as she could muster, “Daddy…” She swallowed. Took a deep breath. “Daddy had to leave, sweetheart.”

“Where?”

“Daddy went to heaven, Megan. He went to see your mommy.”

Megan didn’t say anything. But Hailey could feel her little body tremble.

“He loves you very much,” she whispered. “And he hated to leave you. If he could have stayed, he would have.”

“Can’t I go, too?”

Hailey closed her eyes and felt the sting of tears. “Not yet, baby.”

Megan’s chin quivered, and she began to cry, her tears too big for such a little girl. Sobs that tore Hailey’s heart in two, made her want to scream at the God who could do this to such a dear child.

Megan buried her head in Hailey’s shoulder, and they sat like that for a long time. The mournful sounds of too much pain echoing off the tiled walls, filling the world with sadness. Hailey rocked her back and forth, letting her be, letting her weep until her tears stopped of their own accord. Until she sighed with resignation. It wasn’t over. Megan’s grief would go on for a lifetime, but for now, she’d worn herself out, which was a blessing.

Megan sniffed, then sat up so she was looking into Hailey’s eyes. “Can I stay with you?” she asked, her voice so tiny it almost wasn’t there.

Hailey nodded. “Of course, honey. Don’t worry. I won’t let you go.”

JACK GOT OUT OF HIS TRUCK and leaned against the door for a while. It was cold for Houston. Cold but still humid, which made the frigid air seep right into his bones. Right into his wound.

Driving hadn’t helped. He probably shouldn’t have done it, but then he probably shouldn’t have become a cop in the first place. But now that he was, he had a job to do. At least, as much of a job as his damn hip would allow. He still didn’t want to say anything about the unmarked police car. Not until he had more facts. Accusing his brethren of murder wasn’t something to do lightly. There had to be another explanation.

He pushed himself off the car and walked through the underground parking lot toward the elevator. The sound of a revving engine echoed off the concrete walls. He thought about what was happening in his apartment as he waited for the elevator to come. It was right, to have Hailey talk to the girl. They knew each other. They cared about each other. He would have been in the way.

The doors opened, and he walked into the small cab, pressing the button for the first floor. As the elevator rose, he reached for his wallet and pulled out his ID, clipping it to his shirt pocket. It was a move he’d done so many times he rarely even thought about it. He did now. This ID was more than a way to get upstairs. It was, like his badge, who he was. Homicide detective. Twelve-year veteran. One mean son of a bitch. A single bullet had stripped him of his way of life. One goddamn bullet.

The doors opened and he walked into the warm air of the downtown station. Jenny Cole sat behind the desk. When she saw him she smiled, and her eyes went right to the cane.

“Jenny,” he said, walking as quickly and evenly as he could.

“Hi, Jack. How are you?”

“Fine, thanks.” He handed her his gun as he went through the metal detector and then she handed it back.

“We’ve missed you. And worried about you.”

“Thanks, but I’m pretty involved with my new football career. Quarterbacking is hell.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. They were too filled with pity to let anything else in.

He holstered his weapon and crossed to the central elevator. He didn’t look back at her, although he could feel her gaze.

When he got to the fourth floor, he stepped out, hoping no one was in the hall. He got his wish. It was quiet, and he looked at the big bulletproof glass doors that separated the two worlds. Inside, a universe of cops, neat, organized, with their own code of living and of dying. Outside, the other universe, most of it messy and complicated. He didn’t belong on this side. And he didn’t belong on the other.

He took a step forward, horribly aware of the pain and the feel of the cane in his hand, and of dragging his bad leg and leaning his weight on the other. He felt like a marionette with cut strings. Awkward. Useless.

But at least he could still use a computer. He could use his brain. Maybe it would be enough.

Although he doubted it.




Chapter Three


Hailey sat on the edge of the couch, her gaze fixed on the sleeping child.

It was nearly noon, and Megan had been asleep for almost two hours. The poor kid had exhausted herself. At least she’d gotten some comfort from her quilt and her doll. The three of them were on the floor, just like naptime at Hailey’s. Last Christmas she’d bought Megan a brand-new doll, a beautiful one with a full head of hair and not a single felt-pen mark on her body. But Megan was a loyal little thing. She’d thanked Hailey, then gone right back to lugging Tottie around.

Hailey tried to remember if she’d had a favorite doll. One she couldn’t be parted from. But it wasn’t the day for her own memories.

She forced herself to look up, to see where she was. Jack’s television, dark and silent, reminded her of the statues on Easter Island. The icon of worship for people who didn’t get out much. Which didn’t fit into the admittedly sketchy picture she had of Jack.

Grace had told her he was single. And that an assortment of women dropped by at all hours. Grace also said she’d seen him in his skivvies once, by accident, and that pound for pound he was the best-looking man she’d seen since Elvis.

But then, Grace also believed aliens took all the good parking spots at Luby’s.

Hailey had wondered how Grace had seen him in his underwear. The woman was sixty if she was a day, and she chain-smoked unfiltered Camels, which had stained her teeth an interesting shade of brown.

When had they had that discussion? Oh, yes. It was last Easter. When Hailey had brought her downstairs neighbor a cooked ham. Last Easter, Jack had been fine. It was only two months ago that Hailey had seen him in the laundry room. Seen him using the cane. She’d been with Megan that day. And she remembered thinking then that despite Jack’s brusque manners, he was a devilishly handsome rogue.

She smiled. Rogue. She’d been reading too many historical romances.

Even if he didn’t fit the rogue category, there was something about him…She got up, filled with nervous energy. She went to his kitchen and saw a few dirty plates in the sink, a few clean ones in the plastic drainer on the counter. Discarded coffee filters and beer cans were all she could make out in his trash. She opened his refrigerator and sighed. Not much there. Mustard. Beer. A loaf of bread and a big salami. He’d never heal with this kind of diet.

Wondering how he’d managed so far, she went to the sink and turned on the water. There were no gloves, but there was detergent and a sponge. Having something to do helped. It made her calmer. It gave her time to strategize. When Jack came home, he was going to want to call social services, and there was no question in her mind that she wasn’t going to let him. The idea of Megan going to a stranger after all she’d been through made her sick to her stomach. No matter what, Megan was going to stay.

After finishing the dishes, she cleaned the counters and the coffeemaker. Picked up the old newspapers and tied them with some cord she found under the sink. Then she dusted a bit and, with nothing left to do, headed down the hall to Jack’s bedroom.

His decor was consistent, if nothing else. Only the bare necessities. A bed, no headboard. A dresser. A chair. Not even a chair. She shook her head, not surprised that the bed was unmade. Given his condition, she had to wonder when he’d last changed the sheets. It would be a difficult task with a cane.

Was it too personal a thing to do? She didn’t know the man at all, and now she wanted to change his sheets? Her own need for a purpose silenced her doubts, and she went to the hall closet to get fresh ones.

He only had two other sets. Both beige. Utilitarian. Fine for a man whose life was filled with work and friends, but awful for a man who was virtually house-bound.

She checked on Megan, who was still sound asleep and clutching her doll, and then headed back to his room. It took no time at all to strip the bed. When it was bare, she hurried, because the room felt too much like a prison cell.

Once she was done, she dusted in there, too, wishing she could vacuum the place. It wasn’t as if she was a neat freak or anything, but Jack had done a good deed for Megan. He’d brought Megan to her. It was only right that Hailey do something nice for him in return.

Then she remembered the pillowcase. She’d barely looked in it when she’d pulled out Megan’s fresh clothes. Hailey hurried back down the hall, and just as she took hold of the pillowcase, she heard his key in the lock.

She felt her stomach tighten as she turned. Jack walked in slowly. He looked exhausted. His gaze went to Megan, asleep on her quilt on the floor, and Hailey saw his shoulders relax. Then he spotted her, standing by the couch. “I haven’t gone through it yet,” she said, holding out the pillowcase. “I just got her clothes out after her bath.”

He nodded, locked the dead bolt, then took off his jacket. After leaning slightly against the door, he rolled up his sleeves past his elbows. His arms were lightly dusted with dark hair. She could clearly see the road map of tendons and muscle on his forearms. Very masculine. He winced as he pushed off toward the kitchen, and she fought the urge to offer to help him. He wasn’t one of the children she tended, and besides, she remembered his angry reaction the first time. Still, it hurt, somehow, to watch him move across the room, leaning so heavily on his cane.

“What’s this?” he asked when he turned the kitchen light on.

“I hope you don’t mind. I couldn’t sit still.”

He grunted a noncommittal response, then poured himself a glass of water. She approached him as he drank, fascinated by his Adam’s apple, at the size of his thirst. When he finished, he wiped his arm across his mouth, his gaze on hers as if he’d known she’d been watching him. “Did you tell her?” he asked, keeping his deep voice low.

She nodded. “She was very brave. But it hasn’t really hit her yet. It’s going to take a long while for her to adjust to this. To accept that her father isn’t coming back.”

Jack moved to the kitchen table and sat heavily in a chair. His cane clattered loudly to the linoleum floor, but he didn’t even give it a glance. “Not only is he not coming back,” he said, “he wasn’t really here.”

“What?” She pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down, laying the pillowcase between them.

“Roy Chandler wasn’t his name.”

“Seriously?”

He answered her with a look that said he was dead serious.

“Who was he?”

“A charmer named Barry Strangis. From Oklahoma. Incarcerated twice for armed robbery, once in 1972 and again in 1980.”

“Oh, man.”

“Yeah,” he said. His gaze moved to something behind her, and at first she thought Megan had gotten up, but when she turned, she saw she was still sound asleep. He had looked at his chair in the living room. Looked at it with need.

She stood up, went to his television table and got his bottle of pain pills. After she put the bottle on the kitchen table, she took his glass and filled it once more with water. She handed it to him as she sat down again.

He didn’t seem pleased. His eyebrows furrowed and his lips pressed together tightly. Finally he said, “What are you doing?”

“Getting your pills. Water.”

“I know that, but why?”

“Because it’s time for you to take a pill.”

“How do you know?”

“From the look on your face. You seemed…pained.”

“I always look like this.”

She smiled, then tried to hide it.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, his voice even rougher than before.

“I’ve always admired a good curmudgeon,” she said. “George Bernard Shaw. Scrooge. They lend balance to the world.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

She nodded. “Yes, I am.”

“Well, knock it off.”

“Then take your pill.”

He glared at her for another long moment, but then he opened the bottle, shook a pill onto his palm and popped it into his mouth. He drank the entire glass of water, and once more, he wiped his mouth with his arm.

The movement should have been gauche, but it wasn’t. He reminded her of Marlon Brando in Streetcar. Rough and cruel, but only because it hid a vulnerability so deep he didn’t know where to turn.

“So what’s in the case?” he asked.

She shifted her attention to the pillowcase, dumping the contents on the table. The first thing she saw was a picture frame. She moved to pick it up at the same time he did, and their fingers brushed. The contact surprised her, and she jerked her hand back. He grew very still for a moment, then lifted the frame so he could see the picture. “Hmm,” he said.

“What?”

He turned it around.

“That’s Megan’s mother,” Hailey said. “Patricia.”

Jack looked at it again. “She was pretty.”

“Megan looks a lot like her. She’ll be a beautiful woman.”

“Do you know when this Patricia died?”

Hailey shook her head. “Not really. But I think it was after they moved here. I started working for Roy two years ago.”

“What’s that?” He pointed to a sheet of paper inside a plastic bag.

Hailey turned it over to find a recipe. For mulligatawny stew. Handwritten, stained. She passed it to Jack.

“Why would he give her this?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s all he has in his wife’s handwriting.”

Jack shook his head, then put the recipe aside. He picked up a bank passbook and opened it. “Four hundred and fifty dollars. In the name of Megan Chandler.”

“When was the last deposit?”

“At Christmas.”

She didn’t see much else of interest. Just clothes, which she proceeded to fold. There were jeans and sweatshirts, a few dresses, a jacket. Two pairs of shoes, a stack of panties and three sets of pajamas.

“He knew he was going to be gone awhile,” Jack said. “Or that he might never come back.”

“It appears so. But there’s something I’ve been wondering all morning. Why did he bring Megan to you, when I was just down the hall?”

Jack’s frown deepened. “The only reason I can think of is that he knew I was a cop.”

“So he must have guessed he was in trouble. Bad trouble.”

“Given the fact that he’s a corpse now, he guessed right.”

“And he didn’t say anything else?”

He looked at her, studying her closely. She thought he was going to say something, but then he just shook his head. She had the feeling he wasn’t telling her everything. Maybe that was for the best. She didn’t want to know anything that would get her into trouble. Not when she had to look out for Megan.

As if he’d sensed her protective thought, he nodded toward the living room. “We should call.”

Hailey caught his gaze and held it. “No, we’re not going to call.”

“We’re not?”

“No,” she repeated. “I want her here.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Maybe not. But I’m going to all the same.”

He leaned back in his chair, giving her a repeat of his unhappy face. It made him look dangerous in a way. Not spooky dangerous. Sexy dangerous.

“I promised her that she could stay with me,” she said. “She has no one else. And she’s too vulnerable to be taken away by strangers. It would make things infinitely worse.”

“The cops will find out he had a kid.”

“I don’t see that as an obstacle. I’m sure there are ways we could make them think Megan was away. I could tell Grace and a few other tenants. They’d help.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he looked back at her, he’d eased up on the frown. “For now,” he said.

“Fair enough.”

“But when things settle down…”

“We’ll talk about it again.”

“You design web sites? You should have been a lawyer.”

“Thank you.”

He leaned forward again, and she prepared for his retort, but instead, he frowned once more and nodded toward the living room. “Look who’s awake.”

Hailey turned to see Megan sitting up, clutching Tottie and sucking her thumb. “Hey, sweet pea,” she said as she left Jack and his scowl. “You slept a long time.”

Megan looked at her. “I want to go home,” she said.

“I know you do, honey. But I’m afraid we can’t go home just yet. Mr. McCabe and I are going to look after you, remember?”

She nodded slowly. Hailey thought she might start crying again, but she didn’t. “Tottie’s hungry,” was all she said.

“I’ll bet she is. And I’ll bet you are, too. Tell you what. You stay here with Mr. McCabe, and I’ll get us all lunch from my apartment and bring it back.”

“I want to go, too.”

“I’ll only be gone a few minutes. Why don’t you show Mr. McCabe your special blanket?”

Megan nodded, and Hailey wasn’t sure it was a good thing. The girl was a scrapper. Always had been. She sometimes had a tendency to throw a dramatic tantrum when she didn’t get her way, although the episodes were short-lived. To see her acquiesce so soon, and so stoically, told Hailey a lot. This little one was going to need a great deal of attention and a great deal of understanding.

“I’ll be back,” she said, turning to Jack. “I’ll bring some food.”

“I’ll help,” he said, leaning down to retrieve his cane.

“No, that’s okay. You need to be here with Megan.” Before he could argue, Hailey unlocked the apartment door and went outside. It was still chilly. She would put on a jacket before she returned.

As she walked toward her apartment, she felt nervous, as if someone was watching her. When she looked at the parking lot below, no one seemed to be there, although there were several unfamiliar cars in the lot. She shook the feeling off as understandable paranoia, but she walked faster and didn’t feel better until she was inside her place. She bolted the door behind her. The feeling didn’t completely disappear, and she understood right then that her own personal bubble of invulnerability had been shattered this morning. She wondered it she’d ever get it back again.

“THIS IS GARFIELD and he’s the dog. And these are the bees, the mommy and daddy and baby, see?”

Jack nodded, feeling awkward and inept as he listened to Megan talk about her blanket. She continued to point out all the significant pictures—the little girl who was all alone, the eyes, the letters and numbers and the great big heart. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense to him, but then he couldn’t remember ever thinking about a quilt before. Megan certainly took it seriously, though. After each explanation, she waited for his nod and only then moved to the next.

So he kept nodding when there was a pause, but he wasn’t thinking about the big bus or the bumblebee family. His thoughts were on the girl and her situation. She was an orphan, and even though Hailey wanted to keep her, the state still had control over her future. Unfortunately the state was a notoriously bad parent.

It would probably be better for the kid to stick with Hailey, but if she did that and a relative showed up, there’d be big trouble. Who knows how attached Megan would become to Hailey? Then she’d have lost her parents and her guardian, and that wouldn’t be something she could easily recover from. He’d seen that too many times to have any doubts. Kids taken from bad families, put into foster homes, then shuffled to another and another. Those kids didn’t, as a rule, fare well. They ended up coming back home, only by then the parent state was usually in the form of a penitentiary.

At least she was a girl. Girls generally adjusted better than boys.

“…daddy?”

He heard the word and realized she’d asked him something. “What?”

“Do you know my daddy?”

Shoot. He’d hoped to avoid this. What was he supposed to say? Where the hell was Hailey? “Uh, yeah,” he said. “Sure.”

“Hailey says he went to heaven to see my mommy.”

Dammit, where was she? How long could getting some food take? “Yeah, uh, well…Hailey’s pretty smart.”

“Does she baby-sit you, too?”

He smiled. “Not exactly.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “People don’t come back from heaven.”

He probably needed to say something else. Something reassuring. She looked up at him with those big blue eyes, just staring. Waiting. But he didn’t have a clue. She might as well have been one of those bumblebees on the quilt for all he knew how to talk to her. He’d never been around kids, not like Megan, at least. He’d know what to say if she’d just tagged a building or sold drugs on the schoolyard. But this? He was way out of his league.

He blinked, but she didn’t. She didn’t move. “You want to watch some television?” he asked desperately.

She nodded, but did he detect a note of disappointment in her eyes? Had he already failed?

“I like Reading Rainbow,” she said in a small voice. “And sometimes I watch Barney.”

“Barney,” he repeated, wishing he knew what she was talking about. “Sure you don’t like to watch football?”

She shrugged.

“It’s fun, trust me,” he said, turning toward the television. The remote was on the TV table, and he switched on the set, grateful for the distraction. He clicked until he hit the Dolphins’ game. Then he went to his chair and sank into it, grateful to be off his feet.

Megan came up next to him. “I’ve seen this game before at my house.”

“Yeah? Well, good. Greatest game ever invented.”

“My daddy says football is for jerks. He says the quarterboy doesn’t know shit from shinola.”

Jack jerked his gaze to Megan. “Pardon me?”

She sighed. “He says football is for jerks—”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you. Maybe we’ll look for this Barney show, after all.”

“Okay,” she said.

He flipped the channel and the next and the next until finally he found some cartoons. It wasn’t Barney, but it wasn’t football, either.

She moved closer to him, then before he could do a thing, she climbed into his lap and settled back. She adjusted her doll under her arm and put her thumb in her mouth.

It was the damndest thing.




Chapter Four


Jack gripped the arms of his chair, not sure what to do. He sent out a mental SOS for Hailey, but to no avail. Megan, on the other hand, seemed completely relaxed. She curved to his body, leaning her head on his upper arm, letting her legs dangle on each side of his. He said a quick thanks to whatever had made her pick his good side to climb on.

As it was, he wanted nothing more than to put her back on the floor where she belonged. But that would probably freak her out.

He went through another list of options, each one worse than the last. He couldn’t jump up, that was for sure. He couldn’t even talk his way out of this, because she was hardly more than a baby, for crying out loud.

He watched a cartoon mouse hit a cartoon cat with a frying pan, but he had no idea what had provoked the attack, because he was too busy thinking about the scent he’d just noticed. Not like perfume. Not even like a woman after a bath. This was a whole different smell. A vulnerable smell. He’d never been with a kid who didn’t smell bad. Or who was so quiet. Except for the rhythmic sucking of her thumb, she was completely still. Content to just sit there on his lap. She didn’t ask for anything or make a fuss. She wasn’t the least bit afraid of him, which was maybe the weirdest thing of all.

He exhaled a breath he hadn’t known he was holding and tried to relax. It wasn’t easy, given that he didn’t want to move.

Distraction. That was what he needed. Something to make him forget the little girl, the vulnerable scent. Unfortunately, cartoons didn’t seem to be sufficient.

His thoughts turned to Hailey. Falling back on an old exercise his first partner had taught him, he did an inventory of the woman, starting from the outside and moving in.

Blond, but not the fake kind—no dark roots. He wasn’t a betting man, but he’d lay his disability check on her hair not being a result of an advancement in chemistry. Her eyebrows were light, too, although not nearly as light as her hair.

Blue eyes. Almost the same color as Megan’s, but not quite. Hailey’s were a little darker and a little wiser. But there was innocence in the woman’s eyes, too. Vulnerability. She shouldn’t be involved in this mess. He just knew it. If Roy’s killers knew he had a kid and they came back to clean up any loose ends…

He was digressing. Back to the exercise. What kind of skin did she have? Soft. No, dammit, he couldn’t put that down on a report. Pale. That was better. Pale and perfect, not a wrinkle, not a scar, nothing.

Nose? Normal. Narrow. Nothing that would set her apart.

Mouth? Now that was a little more interesting. Her mouth had caught his attention a couple of times. She smiled easily and she had good teeth. White, even, like someone in a toothpaste commercial. But her lips were the nicest part of her face. The color of coral or maybe pinker than that. Pretty. A terrific smile.

How’d Captain Driscoll like to see him write that about a witness? The witness had a terrific smile and vulnerable eyes. Yeah, that would go over with a bang.

The funny thing was, she wasn’t that attractive on first glance. Nothing that would stop traffic. But now that he’d talked with her, thought about her, he could see that she had her own kind of pretty. Especially when she smiled.

It didn’t hurt that she had the kind of figure he most admired. Not too skinny, like those starving models, but nice. Womanly. Her curves were the real McCoy, he’d bet. None of that silicone for her.

She was the kind of woman he never dated. He didn’t want apple pie and together forever. He wanted right now and out the door. At least, that was what he had wanted.

Now, if he was smart, he wouldn’t want anything. Anybody. The women in his life had all made it perfectly clear that he wasn’t required to talk much, think much or even spend much money. Because he had the muscles. Because he knew exactly what a woman wanted before she knew herself. It was his physique and his technique, the terrible duo that had been his best buddies, that had made the women come home with him. And thanks to a bullet, he no longer had either.

He’d heal, but he’d never be the same. He’d have the scars and the limp and the knowledge that he was just as vulnerable as the kid on his lap. He couldn’t leap tall buildings in a single bound or outrun a speeding train, but he sure as hell could stop a bullet with his hip.

Megan shifted and he tensed again. She withdrew her wet thumb from her mouth. “Is Hailey coming back?” she asked, then popped the thumb back in.

“I sure as h—I hope so,” he said.

She didn’t say anything more. She just watched her show. The cat and mouse had been replaced by Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd. At least Jack knew who they were. Even so, Bugs wasn’t enough of a distraction. All he could think about was the kid on his lap and the woman down the hall. He’d give it two more minutes, and then he’d go see what was keeping Hailey.

He only had to wait one minute. The door wasn’t locked and Hailey walked in, but Jack couldn’t do anything about it because Megan didn’t leave. He’d figured for sure she’d jump down, but she just sat there, her head turned to the right, waiting for Hailey to come into her field of vision.

“I see you two have made yourselves comfortable.”

Jack cleared his throat, sure that if he said anything at all, the kid would take it personally. He could see Hailey now, carrying two big supermarket bags, one in each arm. She’d put on a jacket. He hoped she’d take it off soon.

“How does everyone like spaghetti?” she asked, focusing on Megan.

The little girl nodded.

“Uh, you need help?” Jack asked. Praying she’d say yes.

“No, not at all. You just sit tight. I’ll let you know when lunch is ready.”

Not the answer he was looking for. Damn.

Hailey smiled as she put the bags on the counter. Jack’s innocent question hadn’t fooled her a bit. He didn’t know what to make of Megan or how to get her off his lap. Big man like him, afraid of a little girl. So silly. So…endearing. Why that should be, she didn’t know, but there it was. She felt a warmth from Jack she hadn’t before. Perhaps because, even though he didn’t want Megan on his lap, he didn’t force her to leave. That said something about him. Something good.

She hung her jacket on the back of a chair, then unpacked her supplies: vegetables and fruits, milk, spaghetti noodles, sauce, some frozen dinners and some chicken she’d found in her freezer, orange juice, hot cereal and several cans of soup. Not that she planned on making all this today. But she’d probably be going to the market long before Jack did, and she wanted him to have something healthy in the house.

It only took her a few minutes to find a pot big enough for the pasta and another for the sauce; he even had a strainer, which was good. But she had to wash everything first. He clearly didn’t cook often, if ever.

Poor guy. She glanced at him again, almost laughing out loud at his rigid posture. Then it occurred to her that maybe Megan was hurting him. That wasn’t so amusing. “Megan, honey, want to come help me make lunch?”

Megan popped her thumb out of her mouth and solemnly climbed down from her perch. As soon as her feet touched the ground, Hailey saw Jack exhale. Such a big exhalation, in fact, she wondered if he’d breathed at all while she was gone.

As Megan approached, Hailey took the opportunity to look at her closely. Her eyes weren’t red anymore; she apparently hadn’t cried since the bath. But there was something different about her. The light on the inside had dimmed. She didn’t shine anymore. The automatic smile wasn’t there. Please God, let it be temporary. Let her recover.

Hailey got three plates from the cupboard and held them out to the little girl. “Can you set these on the table?”

Megan nodded, then put her doll on the floor. She took the plates and went to the table, placing the dishes right in front of the three chairs. Then she turned to wait for her next task. So quiet. So obedient. It broke Hailey’s heart.

Megan ended up setting the table perfectly, down to the folded paper napkins. Hailey made a salad and finished up the spaghetti, all the while thinking about what she should do. Take Megan back to her place? Probably. Despite Jack’s misgivings, Hailey couldn’t imagine that whoever had killed Roy would care much about a four-year-old girl. It would have made her feel better, though, if she understood why Roy had been killed. Drugs? A burglary gone bad? Fool. Damn fool. He shouldn’t have done anything dangerous, not when he had Megan in his care.

“You need a hand?”

She looked up to see Jack standing in the kitchen by the refrigerator. She’d been so preoccupied that she hadn’t even seen him walk by. “No, no. We’re almost ready. Just a few more minutes.”

He headed for one of the kitchen chairs, and Hailey turned to Megan. “Honey, why don’t you go play for a bit? I’ll call you as soon as lunch is ready.”

Megan obeyed, taking Tottie with her. Once she was out of the room, Hailey poured the spaghetti into the colander and ran some cool water over it. She brought the salad to the table and sat down next to Jack. “I’ve been thinking…” she said.

“Yeah?”

“About what to do next.”

“Okay.” His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he was already planning to nix any ideas she might have.

“I’m going to take her back to my place,” she said. “She’s comfortable there. She knows me.”

“You realize you’ll be questioned. And if they find out you’ve got Megan, they’ll call social services.”

“Why would they question me?”

“Because you live in the complex. They’ll question everyone.”

“And if I tell them I don’t know anything?”

He shook his head. “Did Chandler always pay you in cash?”

She thought about it. “Mostly. But a few times he wrote me a check.”

“Did anyone else in the building know you looked after Megan?”

“Okay, I get it. They’ll figure out I was her sitter.”

“That’s right. And they’ll figure Roy left her with you.”

“He didn’t.”

“You want me to lie?”

She took in a breath, thinking hard about what she was going to propose. “Yes, I guess I do. I want to tell the police that I haven’t seen Megan. That she went to visit relatives.”

“And if they ask who these relatives are?”

“I’ll tell them the truth. That I don’t know.”

“It’s too risky.”

“Why? What harm can it possibly do to keep this child for a while? She’s been traumatized enough without having to go downtown. Without someone putting her in a foster home with strangers.”

“Hailey,” he said, “I agree. It’s not the best solution. But it’s the only one that will keep you out of trouble.”

“I don’t mind trouble,” she said.

He smiled at her, a kind of lopsided grin. “You’ve never been in trouble a day in your life.”

“How do you know?”

He laughed. “All I have to do is look at you. Oh, maybe you exceeded the speed limit once. Probably had an overdue book at the library. But trouble? Uhuh.”

“Well, Mr. Know-it-all, you’re wrong.”

“I am?”

She nodded. “I got into some very serious trouble once.”

He studied her for a moment. “How old were you?”

She felt her cheeks heat and she looked away. “Eleven.”

“What’d you do—break someone’s window?”

“It was a church window, thank you. And I was in trouble for a long time.”

“I’ll bet.”

She looked at him again, at his smug little smirk. “Just because I haven’t been in trouble before doesn’t mean I won’t be able to handle trouble now.”

“I have no doubts about that. Only, it’s best to avoid trouble if you can.”

“But don’t you see?” she asked, no longer teasing. “I can’t. I love Megan, Jack. I’ve taken care of her for two years. She’s like family. I can’t give her up.”

He sighed. “Let me think about it,” he said. “Maybe there’s another solution.”

She nodded. At least it wasn’t a straight-out no.

Hailey called Megan to the table, then served up lunch. It was a quiet affair, no idle chatter, not even from Megan. And when they finished, Megan put her dish on the counter like a perfect little soldier. Then she went back to the floor, to her cartoons.

“Listen,” Hailey said, “I’m going to go get a few more things from my place.”

He looked a little panicked. “You won’t be long, will you?”

“I’ll be back before you can say Sesame Street.”

“Okay, then,” he said, his panic softening a bit. But only a bit.

She grabbed her jacket from the chair and put it on. “I brought juice for her. It’s in the fridge. But I doubt she’ll want any.”

He looked out to where Megan sat watching TV. Hailey went over to her and saw that her eyes were only half-open. She would be asleep very soon. Just looking at her made Hailey’s heart contract, and she had to fight another bout of tears.

She went back to Jack at the table. “She’s almost asleep. So don’t worry.”

“All right,” he said. “But hurry.”

“I will.”

She left his apartment and headed straight for hers. She wanted it to be ready for Megan, with lots of familiar things around. But first she changed the sheets on the daybed in the guest room, and then she looked for Megan’s stuffed bunny, but she couldn’t find it. The room that had been fine for temporary baby-sitting looked woefully unequipped for a long stay. It wouldn’t do at all.

Hailey went to her desk and got the key Roy had given her, then she picked up her empty clothes hamper to use as a carryall. As she headed outside and around to Roy’s apartment, she thought about all the things she wanted to get. The bunny. Some more clothes, especially pajamas and a warm jacket. There was a picture of Roy in the living room, and Hailey wanted Megan to have that. There had to be some other things that would bring Megan comfort later on.

She reached Roy’s apartment and slipped the key into the lock. The first thing she saw when she opened the door was chaos. Someone had been there. Someone searching desperately for something. Because there wasn’t one piece of furniture that wasn’t overturned or ripped to shreds. Not one picture that wasn’t torn down the middle. Not one cabinet that wasn’t opened and emptied.




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