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The Surgeon's Secret Baby
Ann Christopher


A miracle child…Pediatric surgeon Naomi Horton longs to have a baby of her own. With one failed marriage behind her, though, she plans to get pregnant without the risk of a broken heart. But her gorgeous new boss, Rick Weber, makes Naomi realize she doesn’t just want single parenthood—she wants a loving husband, too.She wants Rick. Yet, despite their undeniable desire for each other, a family is definitely not on Rick’s agenda. But will he change his mind once he finds out Naomi is pregnant…with his baby?










“Lia.”

He sank his fingers deep into the silk of her hair, searching for the warmth of her scalp beneath, and tilted her head way back so he could have complete access to her mouth, which he took with deep, thrusting sweeps of his tongue. A remote corner of his brain was aware that his urgency was making him a little rough, and maybe he should ease up and let the poor woman catch her breath, but there was no time for that now. He’d waited too long and there were too many possible ways for their lips to fit together, tasting and nibbling, stroking and tugging, and the taste of her—a delicious combination of white wine and buttery icing from the cake—was far too delicious for him to slow down.

More. He needed more.

“I want you.” Jesus, was that him with that guttural and animalistic voice that sounded as though it belonged to a caveman? Too far gone to manage gentle, he grabbed fistfuls of her hair, learning the feel of it, and then ran his fingers over her forehead and dimpled cheeks, and across those lips that were slick and swollen now, but still smiling. “You have no idea how much I want you.”




The Surgeon’s Secret Baby

Ann Christopher






















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


Dear Reader,

Here’s what brilliant surgeon Thomas Bradshaw likes: working hard, playing hard and women. Here’s what he doesn’t like: surprises. Too bad he’s about to get blindsided by the biggest surprises of his life.

First surprise? He has a kid. A precocious eight-year-old son who will die soon if he doesn’t receive a kidney transplant, to be more specific.

Second surprise? The kid’s mom, Lia Taylor, a woman so beautiful and intriguing that he has a hard time thinking straight when she’s around.

Biggest surprise of all? This instant family may just be the best thing that’s ever happened to him in his life….

Happy reading!

Ann

P.S. Don’t forget to look for my next Kimani Romance titles, Sinful Temptation (February 2012) and Sinful Seduction (March 2012), which introduce Alessandro and Antonios Davies, the Twins of Sin.


To Richard



Special thanks to my wonderful editor, Kelli Martin,

and to the other ladies in the Hopewell General series,

Brenda Jackson, Maureen Smith and Jacquelin Thomas,

for being so delightful to work with. Finally, big hugs

and kisses to Mom, for helping me with my medical

questions. Guess I owe you some gingersnaps, eh?




Acknowledgment


Special thanks and acknowledgment

are given to Ann Christopher for her contribution

to the Hopewell General miniseries.




Chapter 1


Accusing gazes followed Special Agent Lia Taylor through Hopewell General Hospital.

They burned twin laser holes in the back of her head as she toured the facility, which was so massive, foreign and overwhelming to her that she might as well have been dropped via parachute into Beijing or Abu Dhabi. Her first-day jitters intensified, threatening to cause an ulcer in the lining of her churning stomach.

How in God’s name had she, an FBI systems analyst with an impeccable record, landed herself here, in this hospital and this predicament? How could this possibly work? When would she ever go back to life as she knew it?

Soon? Never?

She felt like a tiny little fish, so far out of water that she’d never make her way back to her pond again. It didn’t help that the immortal words of Judy Garland’s Dorothy Gale kept running through her overwrought brain:

Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.

No one in the building seemed to speak her language—she caught snippets of conversation from passing personnel, which included incomprehensible phrases like, So, you’re thinking bowel disimpaction? Dude. I hope you’re ready to glove up and dig in, and Did you finally get rid of that GOMER? and Negative appendix? Now what? She was sure she stuck out like a surgical clamp on a chest X-ray. Worse was the creeping certainty that people were staring and whispering as she passed, muttering darkly about the things she’d done and what she was:

Hacker.

Thief.

Criminal.

Or maybe those accusations were only in her mind.

Man, she hoped so.

Picking up the pace, which was tricky because of her pencil skirt and black pumps, she hurried after her new boss, Germaine Dudley, M.D., chief of staff. He seemed determined to lose her in this labyrinth, possibly because if she disappeared forever into the depths of, say, nuclear medicine, he’d never have to deal with her again.

They would not be winning any popularity contests with each other, she and the good doctor. Oh, no. And while she might be imagining the disapproving glances of everyone else around her, his were the real deal.

“This is the back way into the E.R.” Dr. Dudley reached out a weathered brown hand and smacked the wall switch plate, making the heavy metal doors whoosh open ahead of them. They strode into yet another nerve center—the hospital seemed to have dozens of them—where so many scrubs-and-Crocs-wearing people hustled by it was as though she’d stepped into Grand Central Station. “This is the easiest way to get here from the cafeteria, if you ever need to.”

“Great.”

He pointed. “The admissions desk is on the other side of that door. This is the nurses’ station, of course.”

“Of course,” she murmured.

Without breaking stride, he shot her yet another narrow-eyed look over his shoulder, his lab coat flapping as though it, too, was irritated with her. “Am I boring you?”

“No,” she said, and decided it was past time for her to grow a backbone where this man was concerned. He was not, after all, the Antichrist, even if he was in a position to make her life uncomfortable for a while, and they needed to get a few things straight. “But I can see you’re not thrilled to be my tour guide, and I feel bad for taking you away from your real duties. Maybe someone else can show me the rest of the hospital … ”

The suggestion made him stop and snort with obvious disbelief. “Nice try, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to let you out of my sight. Do you? You might break into patient or employee records next. Why would you limit your hacking to the sperm-bank database?”

She’d earned that, yeah, but she didn’t like hearing it said aloud, and she hated being under this pompous bastard’s thumb. He may look something like Danny Glover, but he had none of the actor’s warmth or, as far as she was concerned, humanity.

Hitching up her chin, she got in his face. Screw it. What was the worst that could happen? Being fired? Hauled in by the police? Whatever it was, it was a sunny day in the park compared to what she was already facing in her personal life.

“If I’m so untrustworthy, Doctor, then why don’t you throw me out and call the police? I hate to hang around where I’m not wanted. In fact, why don’t I just go?”

For emphasis, she took a step toward the nearest glowing Exit sign, and that brought Dudley to heel, just like she’d known it would. Putting a hand on her arm, he stopped her and lowered his voice. “I don’t think so. I don’t like you, and I think you’re a criminal who should be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law, but this isn’t about me. This is about what’s best for Hopewell General, and the hospital—”

He caught himself with a grimace, but she already knew and took the opportunity to rub it in. Just a little.

“The hospital can’t afford another scandal so soon, can it? Not after all that nasty publicity about your intern who was stealing narcotics from the hospital to support his habit.” She tsked. “That was unfortunate, wasn’t it?”

Dudley stilled, his face slowly hardening into stone.

She waited.

“Allegedly stealing narcotics,” he said finally, and she knew she’d won. This round, anyway.

“Right.” Feeling cheerier by the second, she smiled. “Allegedly. Whatever. The bottom line is, I need you not to press charges, and you need me to build you a world-class security system to protect the hospital’s computers. See? Win-win. So maybe we could work on not hating each other so much. What do you say?”

To her dismay, he continued to stare at her, but the vibe twisted and changed into something that made her skin crawl, especially when that slow gaze scraped down and over her body, as though he could see through her black suit to the parts of her body no man had seen in more years than she cared to count. Those brown eyes became thoughtful … considering … calculating. He was so obvious about it she could almost hear the clank of gears shifting in his devious little mind. It would have been funny except that she didn’t have time for this kind of nonsense, not with—

No. She wouldn’t think about that now. First things first.

“Maybe we could discuss this over dinner,” he suggested, his voice as sleek and oily as a spill in the Gulf of Mexico.

“Hmm.” She smiled sweetly, purely for the pleasure of seeing that flare of greedy lust in his expression right before she cut him off at the knees. “Just so you know, Doctor, I was the best shooter in my class at the academy, and I’m licensed to carry a concealed handgun with me wherever I go. Still want that dinner?”

His skin went pale around his frozen grin.

“Oh, well. Too bad. And please make sure to tell your wife that we’ve decided to keep our relationship on a professional level. I don’t want her coming after me. Okay?”

Dudley goggled at her. “My wife?”

“Your wife.” Lia jerked her head in the direction of a woman behind the nurse’s station. Though she quickly tossed her fall of sleek black hair, lowered her head and made a show of flipping through a patient chart, the woman had been tracking Lia’s interaction with Dudley since the second they came into view. She was about thirty-five-ish, Lia guessed, and would have been stunningly beautiful if she hadn’t been giving Lia the Medusa stare for the last several minutes. “She seems to be the jealous type.”

Looking bewildered, Dudley turned to see whom Lia was referring to and spied the woman, who shot him a quick glare. His expression cleared with sudden understanding that made his face brighten to a stunning magenta. Lia considered the color change a dead giveaway to some sort of questionable behavior between him and Ms. Attitude, but Dudley apparently imagined himself to be quite the player and was now giving Lia the wide-eyed, innocent act. Lia played along, just for kicks. If this idiot wanted to delude himself into thinking that FBI agents couldn’t read people’s body language, then who was she to disabuse him of that notion?

“That’s not your wife?” she asked.

“Ah, no,” Dudley said, clearing his throat. “She’s, ah, Kayla Tsang. Head of nursing in E.R..”

“She seems very interested in our conversation.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Keeping his resolute gaze straight ahead, Dudley resumed his march around the nurse’s station. “And I need to get back to the office.”

Lia ducked her head, careful to keep her smile to herself. “My mistake.”

Yeah, it was time to get cracking, and, amusing as the good doctor and his extracurricular activities were, they had nothing to do with Lia. Well, unless he tried to hit on Lia again; then she’d use what she suspected as leverage against him. But she didn’t think it would come to that. Meanwhile, the sooner they got done with this ridiculous tour, the sooner she could get back to her new office and work on the security system, and the sooner she could return to the FBI after this leave of absence. They’d already wasted the better part of the morning.

“I’m just trying to understand what was going through your mind, Brown.” A man’s deep voice, low but hard-edged with annoyance, cut across the hubbub from the other side of the nurse’s station. “Give me something to work with here.”

Don’t be nosy, Lia told herself, even though Dudley and everyone else, for that matter, were already glancing around and craning their necks like rubbernecking drivers on the highway. It’s none of your business.

Her feet, unfortunately, didn’t understand social niceties and were already slowing for a better look at the developing ass chewing. There was something compelling about that man’s voice, something that caught her attention in a steel-jawed grip and didn’t let go.

And then she saw him.

Not the red-faced and stammering Brown, a young guy—resident, she was guessing—who looked like a twelve-year-old who’d tried on his father’s scrubs and was now horrified to actually be mistaken for a doctor.

No. Lia couldn’t look away from the other guy. The angry one who had his back to her while he got in Brown’s face.

About six feet tall, he, too, was dressed in scrubs—hell, everyone around here was—and had the broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted, round-assed combination of a born athlete or a gym rat. His gesturing arms were smoothly brown and sculpted, and he wore battered running shoes, which told her they saw action outside the corridors of this hospital. A stethoscope dangled around his neck at the base of his skull-trimmed head, and she hoped he wasn’t about to whip it off and use it to strangle Brown, which seemed like a distinct possibility.

After several excruciating beats, the stammering and floundering Brown found his tongue and worked up an answer. “I didn’t think—” he began.

Dr. Pissed Off snorted. “That much is clear.”

“—that we needed a chest X-ray,” Brown continued. “So I—”

“So you didn’t order one.” Dr. Pissed Off swelled with indignation, somehow taking up more than his fair share of the air and space around the nurse’s station. “And now we’ve got a patient with a raging case of pneumonia, which should’ve been diagnosed yesterday. Does that about sum it up?”

Everyone within a twenty-foot radius was listening now. Oh, they kept up the pretense of working, sure, but the personnel behind the counter had their ears cocked as they tapped on their keyboards or spoke on the phone, and even the passing orderly and the patient he was wheeling on his gurney turned their heads to gape. Beside Lia, Dudley was watching with rapt attention, which, she figured, gave her permission to keep watching.

Brown had the good sense to keep his mouth shut. But if he’d hoped that would shorten his time in the dunce chair, he was sadly mistaken.

“I don’t think you have the chops for this,” said Dr. Pissed Off, whom she was beginning to think of as Dr. Jackass. “I really don’t. Any third-year medical student would have ordered the film. Hell, anyone’s who’s ever watched half an episode of Grey’s Anatomy would’ve ordered the film. I’m thinking you should’ve gone to law school, Brown.”

Ouch. Low blow.

Brown seemed to think so too, because he jerked his chin up, grew a pair and tried to defend himself. “Look. I made a mistake. It won’t happen again. I’m sorry.”

Dr. Jerk was not impressed. “I don’t want your apology,” he said. “I want you to do your job. Now get out of here.”

Brown wavered for a second, his humiliated and defiant gaze flickering between his tormentor and their avid audience. A couple of the nurses gave him an encouraging smile, which seemed to give him courage. He looked like he wanted to return to the battlefield and maybe fire off one last salvo, but he couldn’t seem to find the guts.

Instead, he ducked his head and hurried off around the corner, heading for the elevators and, probably, a long day spent beating himself up for his honest mistake.

Poor guy. Lia’s heart squeezed with sympathy as she watched him go. Was this kind of abuse dished out to the beleaguered residents on a daily basis? And did Dr. Pissed Off think he was God?

Dumb question. Yes, of course he did. Didn’t all doctors?

“For God’s sake,” Dr. Evil muttered to no one, continuing his ridiculous little temper tantrum by slamming the patient’s metal file on the counter as he strode off. Everyone jumped and then hastily resumed their busywork, as though they’d been so engrossed in minding their own business that they’d missed the whole interlude. “How am I supposed to teach these clowns?”

Something possessed Lia. She’d been accused, on more than one occasion, of being a crusader, and right now she felt the strong urge to find a cape and a sword and fly to the rescue of young Dr. Brown.

Idiotic, yeah, especially considering that she didn’t know the guy, who could well be the worst student to ever claw his way through a sub-par medical school, but she couldn’t just stand quietly by while his boss the jerk tore into him. Injustice of any kind, real or imagined, made her face burn with anger. And why was no one else standing up to the ogre and speaking out against his reign of terror?

“For God’s sake.” She kept her voice loud and clear as she spoke to Dr. Jackass’s departing back. “How are residents supposed to learn when they’re being bullied?”

A ringing silence bloomed like a nuclear explosion, giving her time to wonder if she’d gone too far.

And … yeeeeeaaah. She’d probably gone too far.

Jaws dropped. Heads swiveled in her direction. Wide-eyed looks were exchanged. Even Dudley raised his brows and gave her an are-you-crazy glance.

She waited with a growing sense of foreboding.

The bully paused, cocked his head as though he wanted to make sure he’d heard right, and then wheeled around, facing her for the first time. His attention zeroed in on her, the big mouth, and she’d almost swear that everyone else ducked and scurried away so as not to be caught in the oncoming path of destruction. In that pregnant moment, she had a wild image of the indigenous people tying Ann Darrow to her sacrificial post and then sprinting back to the other side of that primitive gate, where it was safe from King Kong.

Only this was no King Kong. Not by a long shot.

Oh, man. The breath leaked out of her lungs in one quick whoosh, and she found herself caught in the fierce gaze from a pair of furious but extraordinary brown eyes. He had long lashes and straight brows that showcased a burning intensity and a keen intelligence. His dark skin was flushed. One edge of his full lips pulled back in a disbelieving sneer, which revealed a hint of both white teeth and a bracket of what would be dimples, if and when he ever smiled.

He was, in a word, stunning.

Shock hit Lia like the leather thong of a cracked whip.

In two long strides he was on her, right in her face. “What did you say to me?”

Locking her knees in place, Lia stood up to him because no one else had. “I said that if a student isn’t learning, it’s generally the teacher’s fault.”

A collective gasp, quickly stifled, rippled through the crowd of avid onlookers, all of whom were probably wishing they had an ICEE and a large buttered popcorn to go along with the show.

His eyes—his unforgettably amazing eyes—widened with shock, probably because no one had challenged his arrogance in the last decade or so. Recovering quickly, he looked her up and down with cool disdain.

“Are you a licensed physician?”

“No,” she admitted.

Triumph gleamed in his expression. “Then you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, do you?”

With that, he gave Dudley a curt nod and strode off, sucking all the air out of the area with him. His departing back posed a real challenge to her. She wanted to hurl just the right comeback and prevent him from having the last word, but her mouth was dry and her brain was empty.

Best to just leave well enough alone. For now.

“In case you were interested,” Dudley told Lia, flashing her an amused grin, “that was Dr. Bradshaw. The youngest ever head of surgery here and the best we’ve got.”

Oh, she knew who he was, even though they’d never met. He bore a remarkable resemblance to someone very close to her, but now wasn’t the time to get into personal details about her life. Soon, but not now.

“Hmm.” Badly shaken and acutely aware of both her burning face and Dudley’s curiosity, she tried to get her head back in the game. She’d confront the arrogant Dr. Thomas Bradshaw soon enough. Until then, she had a job to do and a role to play with her new boss. “Too bad no one ever taught him to be a kind human being.”

“He’s only kind on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” said a new, male voice behind her. “So it looks like we’re all out of luck today. Jerome Stubbs, RN. I just wanted to meet the woman who confronted the dragon in his lair. And you are … ”

Bracing for the worst—she was wrung out already, and her first day at this godforsaken hospital wasn’t even halfway over yet—Lia turned to discover a grinning young man extending his hand to her. Relief hit her in a wave. Here, at last, was the friendly face of someone who didn’t appear to be a jerk or have an agenda.

So she shook his hand, discovering that Jerome had a firm grip, which was another sign of trustworthiness as far as she was concerned.

“Lia Taylor. Computer security expert. Nice to meet you.”

Jerome reached out and slung his arm around the shoulders of another man nearby, this one with dark skin and a mustache with goatee, scooping him into the conversation as well. “This is Dr. Lucien De Winter. Say hello to the dragon slayer, Lucien.”

They all laughed, including Dudley, and Lia felt some of the seething tension of the last few minutes leach away from her.

“He’s not so bad, you know,” Lucien told her. “Thomas has standards that are exceptionally high. But he’s not terrible once you get to know him. Bad, yeah, but not terrible.”

“I’m not convinced,” Lia said. “But you two seem perfectly nice. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“We know. We’re a delight,” Jerome assured her.

Still laughing, he headed back to the nurse’s station. Lucien, meanwhile, waved his goodbye and disappeared into the cafeteria. Lia turned back to Dudley and discovered him watching her with a glimmer of amused respect in his eyes.

“What?”

Dudley grinned. “You’re a piece of work. You should fit in just fine around here. If you don’t commit any more felonies, that is.”

Okay. She’d about had it with the male medical personnel around here.

“Don’t we have a tour to finish?” she reminded him.

Dudley checked his watch and then held his arm wide, gesturing her toward the cafeteria. “We might as well get some coffee while we’re here.”

“Great,” Lia agreed, but her troubled thoughts were already spinning in other directions.

Back to Thomas Bradshaw. Back to her son. Back to her dwindling options and growing desperation. Back to the twisty and uncertain path she’d chosen and would continue on until its end, whatever that end turned out to be.

She would walk this path, for Jalen.

Anything to save her son.




Chapter 2


“Hello, dearie.” Thomas’s receptionist looked up from her computer as he walked into the waiting area of his suite in the medical office building and shut the door against the dull roar outside. Sunny as usual, her blue eyes bright and her weathered, peaches-and-cream complexion flushed with the apparent thrill of another afternoon spent fielding patients for him, she slid her beaded bifocals down the bridge of her nose and gave him a critical once-over. “You haven’t eaten lunch again, have you? Determined to wither away to the size of a tadpole, I suppose. Well, you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make the dumb bastard drink, can you?”

Thomas had to smile. “Good to see you, too, Mrs. Brennan.” Though she’d been with him for the eight years since she stepped off the plane from Dublin to live with her daughter’s family here in Alexandria, and he knew her first name full well—Aileen—he’d never dared use it. It seemed disrespectful somehow, and he was pretty sure she’d drop kick his ass into next week if he ever tried it. He, on the other hand, had to submit to dearie, love, young Thomas or whatever other silly nickname that she felt like bestowing on him. Not that he minded. Much. “How was your weekend? How’s the grandbaby?”

“Oh, well, she’s the little heart of my heart, now, isn’t she? Working on one teeny little tooth in the front. Here’s a picture.”

She flipped around the digital frame on her desk, showing him a chubby and smiling green-eyed baby with yellow fuzz and a smear of what looked like spaghetti sauce across her face and, sure enough, the hint of a white tooth on her bottom gum.

Oh, man. What a beauty.

Staring at the child, he felt … a pang. Of … something.

Probably nothing more than hunger, not that he’d admit it to Eagle Eyes here.

“You’re very lucky,” he said.

“That I am.” She spun the frame back into place and nailed him with that concern again. “And don’t think that you’ve managed to distract me from your dietary habits, either, young man. Oh, is that coffee for me? Cream and two sugars?”

“Of course.”

“Let’s have it, then.”

“I don’t think so.” He held the Starbucks cup just out of reach of her grasping hand, determined to get this bargain struck as soon as possible. “By accepting this beverage, you agree not to comment on my personal life. Deal?”

Mrs. Brennan glowered until her white brows ran straight across her forehead. “For how long?”

“The whole week.”

“Go on, then,” she said, snatching the cup out of his hand and drinking long and deep. “Nothing but trouble, you are. Here. Eat a protein bar. Get some nutrition.”

She tossed him a bar from the inner depths of her desk drawer. God alone knew what all she kept in there; one of these times he meant to ask for a walleye fishing lure just to see if she could produce it.

He caught it with gratitude because he was still hungry, although he felt compelled to point out a pertinent fact. “I’ll have you know I ate a turkey croissant on the elevator just now.”

She didn’t look remotely impressed. “A grown man like you? You ought to be ashamed of yourself calling that a meal. Eat the bar, and just say thanks.”

Well, she had him there.

“Thanks. I’m going to see how many calls I can make before the meeting at one.”

“Sign the letters on your desk for me.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.” He started down the hallway, ready to collapse into his chair and rest for a minute. Every one of his thirty-six years was really starting to show. Used to be he could stand and operate all day, see patients, handle meetings, go for a run, do paperwork into the wee hours and then collapse into the bed of his woman of the moment before getting up and doing it all again the next day.

Now all he wanted was a two-week nap.

And, come to think of it, a life.

“How were the residents this morning?” she called after him. “Giving you fits?”

Brown and his hapless stammering flashed through Thomas’s mind, quickly followed by his beautiful defender. She’d been interesting, that one. There’d been something about her that almost distracted him from her unfortunate tendency to butt into the conversations of perfect strangers.

“Giving me fits?” His mind’s eye focused in on the woman’s smoky voice … the breasts that were plumped against the lacy white top she wore under that severe suit … the wide hips and shapely bare legs … the startling intensity in her brown eyes. His skin prickled with remembered awareness, and he could swear that the faint scent of her perfume, which was sophisticated and spicy, had followed him all morning. That was a neat trick, considering all the other, less pleasant smells the hospital had to offer. “You have no idea.”

Inside his office, he collapsed into his chair, rested his elbows on the desk and his face in his hands. Man, he was tired. He’d been on last night, and then removed the diseased left lung of an unrepentant, forty-year smoker, which was the medical equivalent of redecorating the staterooms on the Titanic. Then he’d had rounds and the unfortunate run-in with Brown before he’d had a meeting with some of the other doctors in his practice group.

But that Brown thing … it bothered him.

Partially because the kid had been at the tail end of a thirty-hour stint, a point when it was hard for the best of them, even a perfectionist like himself, to fire on all cylinders. Partially because Brown was a competent physician and Thomas hadn’t meant to let loose his temper and humiliate him like that. Partly because it dinged his ego to be read the riot act for his bad behavior by a stunning and undaunted woman, especially when he was at his most daunting.

Especially when he deserved it.

Who was she? Why was he still thinking about her?

He didn’t know, but there was only one way to find out: he’d ask Dr. Dudley about her and track her down. Something was telling him he’d regret it for a good long time if he didn’t.

His phone beeped, and Mrs. Brennan’s voice came over the intercom. “Your da’s on line one.”

Brilliant. Just what he needed to make his day even more of a nonstop thrill fest.

And why did the woman insist on referring to his father as Da when she knew damn good and well that, as a retired admiral, the man would never appreciate or answer to anything as pedestrian and affectionate as Da, Dad or, God forbid, Pops.

He stared at the phone, wondering if he could pretend he hadn’t heard.

“I know you heard me,” Mrs. Brennan’s voice said.

“Why would you think I’d want to talk to my father?”

“Don’t be a twit, dearie. You can always talk to the man who gave life to you.”

The man who gave life to him. That much was true, Thomas supposed, and the man had reared him—when he wasn’t at sea, anyway—and instilled his relentless discipline in him. So, for that, Thomas was grateful.

On the other hand, they’d always had a prickly relationship punctuated by periodic disownings, most notably when Thomas turned down his commission to the Naval Academy in favor of college and medical school, which were inferior enterprises as far as the Admiral was concerned.

Still. The man was the only blood he had since Mom died two years ago.

“Put him through,” he said grudgingly, and the next thing he knew, the Admiral was booming over the speaker at him. The Admiral always boomed.

“I saw the full exposé in the paper this morning. All the details are finally coming out. Two-inch headline, Hopewell General Downplayed Drug Scandal—Fired Intern. Nice. What the hell kind of Mickey Mouse operation are you people running up there? And who’s in charge of your PR? Donald Duck?”

“Thanks for calling.” Thomas balanced the phone on his shoulder, found the stack of letters and started signing. “Nice of you to be concerned.”

A snort from the Admiral. “Someone’s got to be concerned. First the drug thing, then your buddy Lucien De Winter had to step down as chief resident because he was hooking up with one of his interns—”

Unbelievable. “They weren’t hooking up,” Thomas interjected. “They’re engaged. As you well know.”

As usual, the Admiral trampled right over Thomas’s half of the conversation. “You folks are about to run a perfectly good hospital right into the ground with these scandals—”

“The hospital will recover.”

“—and if you’d followed in my footsteps like you were supposed to do, you wouldn’t have these kinds of issues.”

There it was. The inevitable reminder of the greatest of Thomas’s alleged failings. His accomplishments, including his scholarships to Dartmouth and then Columbia for medical school and subsequent spectacular career as a surgeon, never made their way into these conversations.

“Good point,” he said. “The military never has scandals.”

“Don’t you get snippy with me, boy,” the Admiral began, but a commotion out in the reception area diverted Thomas’s attention.

“I don’t know who you think you are, missy.” Mrs. Brennan’s voice, outside his office and closing in now, sounded harassed and shrill, which was a disturbing first in all the years he’d known her. “But you cannot just march into Dr. Bradshaw’s office and—”

“Watch me,” said another woman’s voice.

Wait a minute, Thomas thought, his heart rate kicking into overdrive as determined footsteps stopped outside his door. I know that voice.

And then, there she was, standing in his doorway.

Brown’s defender, a woman who was, he now realized, as beautiful as any he’d ever seen.

Their gazes locked for a moment, during which she seemed to gather her thoughts and he seemed to forget how to breathe. Man, she was fine. Her cheeks were flushed with pretty color, and her eyes were a startling flash of brown fire. There was something about her body language—squared shoulders, fighting stance and firm chin—that told him she’d come armed for battle, and he discovered, much to his surprise, that he couldn’t wait to engage her and see how well their wits matched up for round two.

“I need to talk to you,” she told him. “It’s important.”

Something inside him answered even before he got his thoughts organized.

Yes. Everything between them felt like it could be important. Did she also feel it?

Slowly, he got to his feet.

“—and I don’t know how you can practice medicine in that circus,” the Admiral was now saying in his ear.

This was not the time for his father. “I’ll call you back,” Thomas said, and hung up on the Admiral’s splutter of surprise.

Mrs. Brennan burst into the office, edging the woman aside and dividing her gaze, giving him an apologetic glance and the woman a killing glare. “I’m so sorry, Doctor. I don’t know who on God’s green earth this woman thinks she is.”

This was not the time for Mrs. Brennan, either. “Give us a minute,” Thomas told her.

Mrs. Brennan’s jaw dropped. “But I can have security here in a jiff—”

“I’ll call you if I need you.”

Even Mrs. Brennan at her feistiest couldn’t mistake the finality in his tone. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she muttered darkly, slipping out the door.

The woman clicked the door shut behind her and crossed the room to stand in front of his desk. “Thank you. For your time.”

Sudden urgency made his voice hard, but he needed to know.

“What’s your name?” he demanded.

She hesitated. “Lia Taylor.”

An unusual feeling of shame made him launch into his explanation even though he rarely, if ever, felt the need to make himself understood to others. Normally, he did his thing, which was performing his job to the best of his excellent ability, and if someone had an issue with his occasional abrasiveness, then that was just too damn bad. If people preferred a surgeon with a sweeter temper but unsteady hands, then that was their choice, right?

Normally, that was.

With Lia Taylor, on the other hand, he was happy to spill his guts.

Anything to convince her that he wasn’t a complete SOB.

“Just so you know,” he said, “Dr. Brown’s earlier mistake means that our patient is unstable and needs antibiotics for several days. Which means that we have to postpone her surgery for several days. Which isn’t good.”

“Oh.” Lia blinked. Something in her expression softened, and he felt a corresponding easing of his own tension. Did he have a chance with her, then, if she realized he wasn’t a bastard? “It was none of my business.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“I’m not sure what got into me. I’m a crusader, I guess. I usually root for the underdog.”

“Good to know. I’ll bear that in mind.”

“But that’s not why I’m here.”

“No?” His belly tightened with delicious anticipation. “Why are you here?”

It took several long beats for her to answer.

“I’m here about my son.” She drew a deep breath, then another, clearly gathering courage to tell him something big. “I’m here about … our son.”




Chapter 3


Our son.

The two words hung in the air, hovering over his head like one of those giant anvils that Road Runner was always using to nail Wile E. Coyote in those old Looney Tunes cartoons.

And then they hit him, along with the stinging realization that this woman had no personal interest in him whatsoever.

“Our son?” he echoed, reeling.

“Yes.”

“Bullshit.”

She seemed to have expected this reaction, because she flinched but quickly recovered, plowing ahead with grim determination. “I know you don’t believe me, but he’s sick. And I need your help.”

Oh, okay. He got it. With a bitter laugh, he strode to the door and opened it, the better to speed this little liar on her way. “Nice try. I hate to tell you this, but your theatrics won’t get you to the front of my waiting list for new patients, okay? You need to wait your turn like everyone else. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

To his utter shock, she put her warm little hand on top of his where it rested on the knob, and stared up at him with such a wild mix of hope and desperation in her face that he had to turn away from it. “I’m not making this up. Look at me. I swear on Jalen’s life that I’m not making this up. Please hear me out.”

Jalen.

Weaker and more foolish than he needed to be where this one woman was concerned, he looked at her.

Mistake.

Tears sparkled in those big brown eyes, clinging to her black lashes and threatening to spill onto smooth brown cheeks that had to be the softest things in the world, not that he’d ever know. Worse was her unblinking earnestness, which was unexpected but unmistakable. Whatever else she might be, Lia Taylor didn’t appear to be off her meds, a wacko or a plain vanilla liar.

Or maybe that was just his lust talking.

Snatching his hand free—maybe he could think better when she wasn’t touching him—he stalked back to his desk, anxious to put some distance between him and her and between him and his growing sense of unease.

“Start talking,” he said. “Why don’t you start with explaining this miraculous event, since you and I have never laid eyes on each other before today, much less had sex.” He let his gaze scrape down her body, lingering on a few key points, trying to insult her the way she’d insulted his intelligence by expecting him to believe this fairy tale. “You didn’t think I’d forget having sex with you, did you, sweetheart? Because there’s no chance of that. Let me assure you.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart. This is hard enough without you being patronizing.” She shut the door again and took a few steps farther into the office. “And of course it wasn’t an immaculate conception—”

He leaned against his desk, crossing his arms and his legs. “Oh, I get it. This is the part of the conversation where you try to convince me that we had sex after some college frat party and I was too drunk to remember.”

“No, actually,” she said, her voice cooling several degrees and her tears long gone by now, “I’ve never been sexually attracted to drunk people.”

So she wasn’t going to pursue that line of argument, eh?

Smart choice. Especially since the chance of him forgetting a night with her, drunk or not, were the same as him playing starting center for the L.A. Lakers. Anyway, he’d been too busy studying to have many drunk nights in college, and too careful of his future to have unprotected sex with random women.

“Well, feel free to enlighten me.”

“My husband and I—” she began.

The H-word didn’t sit well with him, which was insane. “You’re married?”

“Widowed.” She had the nerve to raise one delicate brow with obvious annoyance. “Are you going to let me get a complete sentence out?”

He waved a hand for her to continue.

After a pause to make sure he wouldn’t interrupt again, she started over.

“My husband was older than me. We wanted kids. He couldn’t have them. So we went to a sperm bank.” She hesitated. His belly knotted, apparently realizing before the rest of him that a missile strike was headed straight for the space between his eyes. “The Hopewell General sperm bank.”

Thomas’s heart stopped cold.

Lia’s voice gentled, as though she knew that she was flipping his world up on its end. “I was artificially inseminated. I got pregnant. We were ecstatic.” Tears sparkled in her eyes again, and she struggled, her voice cracking. “Until he was killed in a car crash before Jalen was born.”

Ah, shit.

He waited, giving her time to collect herself, which was probably a mistake.

After a deep breath, she got it together enough to keep on kicking the ground out from under Thomas’s feet. “That was nine years ago. Now Jalen is sick and he needs your help, which is why I’m here. The end.”

It was the end, all right. The end of Thomas’s ability to stand upright with his knees nice and strong. Bracing his palms on his desk for support, he took his time lowering himself into his chair and wished he could handle this crisis as well as he handled the ones inside the operating room.

Think, man. THINK.

Didn’t Hopewell General have privacy policies in place to protect the anonymity of anonymous sperm donors?

Hell, yes.

He looked up to find her hovering over the desk, watching him intently, as though the world—their world—hung in the balance. Which, he supposed, it did.

“How do you know?” he wondered. “How do you know I’m the father?”

Her gaze wavered. “I … hacked into the hospital’s records.”

The words rattled around inside his head, making no sense. He tried to imagine what had to be involved in such a task—break-ins, firewalls, passwords, encryptions, decryptions and probably a whole bunch of other computer wizardry that he’d never heard of and could never understand.

“You … hacked into the records?”

“Yes,” she said, defiant now. “I’d do anything for my son.”

“You don’t just hack into—”

“You do if you’re an FBI analyst. And I hope you realize that I’ve just given you enough information to ruin my career and send me to jail for a long time. So I hope you’ll use it wisely.”

He was a bright guy, but it took his spinning thoughts way longer than it should have to coalesce into something coherent. “Hang on. You’re the hacker?”

Impatience leached into her voice. “Yes.”

“So what the hell were you doing with the chief of staff earlier, hanging out like you’re new BFFs?”

“They don’t want to put the hospital through the scandal of prosecuting me, so they’ve hired me to build a stronger security system.”

“Jesus,” he muttered.

Her lips twisted a little, as though she, too, appreciated the irony.

They watched each other for a couple of beats, both wary.

“Do you believe me now?” she asked.

His answer took much longer than it should have. An automatic and emphatic Hell, no! should have been flying out of his mouth, but it seemed stuck in his throat. Crazy, right? He hadn’t signed up for a kid, had always taken steps to prevent producing a kid and wasn’t ready for a kid. Hell, maybe there really wasn’t a kid.

Maybe this complete stranger was looking for a baby daddy with resources to pay for the kid’s braces. Maybe she’d researched him and his family and knew the kind of money they had. Maybe she wanted to get rich quick on child support. Other women had certainly tried, unsuccessfully, to tap into his wallet over the years, so he wouldn’t be surprised. Plus, the hospital was up to its neck in scandals, and it wouldn’t do his personal reputation around here any good if he turned out to have a baby mama, not that he’d ever cared too much about people’s opinions of him, even his colleagues’.

And yet …

Hold up. There was no and yet, even if the idea of having a son tugged at some primal daddy thing inside him. He was too shrewd to be played for a fool.

“Why would I believe the word of an admitted hacker and felon who barges into my office to tell me I have a son but doesn’t have any proof? Or do you have proof? My bad.”

Flashing him a look withering enough to melt his spine, she reached into a skirt pocket, pulled out a smart phone, tapped a couple of buttons and handed it to him without a word.

Whereupon his limbs froze with sudden paralysis.

If he looked at that picture, there was a chance that his life would change forever. Except that, looking into Lia’s eyes, he couldn’t shake the feeling that they’d passed that point of no return a while back.

Taking the phone, he looked.

“Oh, my God.” His fingers tightened in a convulsive grip. “Oh, my God.”

The kid—Jalen; his son’s name was Jalen—was holding a disgruntled gray rabbit in his arms and smiling with delight into the camera. It would have been tempting to accuse Lia of somehow stealing a photo of Thomas when he was a child, but he’d never had a gray rabbit and certainly had never owned an Avatar: The Movie T-shirt.

The eeriness of it made his scalp tingle and the hair stand up on his arms.

He was looking into a younger version of his own face. The Mini-Me to his Dr. Evil. They could have been twins, separated by twenty-eight years.

They had the same chocolate skin with red undertones. The same point at the corner of their right ears. The same straight nose.

The boy’s eyes were keen and intelligent and …

Oh, man. Those were his eyes, looking back at him.

Hell, they even had the same right eyebrow, which was flatter than the left.

He stared, looking for differences, and there were some, but not enough. Jalen had his mother’s dimples and her high cheekbones, but he was, God help him, clearly Thomas’s son. And suddenly, he couldn’t look at the picture for one more second. Not one.

Too stunned to think, he handed the phone back to Lia, who gave him a moment by walking over to the window.

He stared down at his desk through the sudden blur of hot tears, and he couldn’t decide if he was mostly stunned, mostly angry or mostly …

Thrilled.

He was a father. Jalen was his son.

“I’ll want to meet him,” he told her. “After the DNA tests.”

He waited for some sort of refusal or outrage, but there was none.

“Okay,” she said.

Good. She was savvy enough to know that the legalities had to be observed in cases like this. He liked that.

“I want to be part of his life.”

This time, her agreement took a little longer in coming. She looked startled, as though she hadn’t thought quite so far ahead.

“Well,” she began.

“That’s not up for debate.” Later, when his thoughts weren’t buzzing like wasps in a jar, he’d have to give some thought to how he could go from not knowing he had a son to insisting on a place in his son’s life—all within the space of ten minutes. For now, all he knew was that boys needed fathers, and he planned to be a great one. Just because he’d missed the first several years of Jalen’s life didn’t mean he’d willingly miss any more. “Understand?”

A curt nod was his only answer.

Those details thus concluded, they stared at each other in shell-shocked silence.

Then some of his anger at being blindsided like this began to surface. It wasn’t about the child or the money. It was about this woman he’d never seen before having the power to walk into his life and rearrange it, as though she’d swiped her hand across the chessboard, ruining a game well in progress.

“You’ll want child support, I suppose.”

Much to his surprise, she looked shocked. “Child support?”

Wow. She was good with the innocence and outrage. He’d have to remember that. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Money?”

“My God,” she cried, “weren’t you listening? I don’t want your stupid money! I need your kidney!”

For the second time that day, the world dropped out from under him.

Healthy kids didn’t need kidneys. Neither did mildly sick kids.

When he finally got his voice to work, it was an embarrassing croak. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Jalen’s in kidney failure.”

The color bled out of Thomas’s face, leaving it a sickly gray in jarring contrast to the brown of his throat. After a second or two of indecision, he slipped into that medical zone and tried to take charge, the way that doctors do. That air of confidence used to reassure her back in the early days, but that was before she realized that, more often than not, doctors didn’t know a damn thing about getting Jalen better.

“Polycystic kidney disease?” he demanded.

Like it mattered at this point. “No. He had a terrible case of E. Coli about two years ago, and that ruined his kidneys. Put him into kidney failure.”

Undaunted, he plowed ahead. “Who’s your doc? We’ve got a great specialist on staff—”

Was he for real? Or was it just that he couldn’t comprehend a world where his larger-than-life medical connections and abilities didn’t win the day? Whatever his issue was, Jalen was running out of time and she was way out of patience.

“We don’t need a specialist. We have a specialist. Lots of them. And Jalen has been on dialysis for almost two years, and he’s not doing well. Do you get that, Dr. Bradshaw? If I want my son to live—and I do—then I need to find him a compatible kidney quick, fast, and in a hurry, because my kidneys aren’t a match, and neither are anyone’s in my family. All of whom, by the way, live on the West Coast and have already been tested. And you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t want my son to sit on the transplant list for another two years, waiting for a match to materialize out of nowhere.”

“But—”

Something inside her head snapped. Jalen was knocking pretty hard on death’s door, and this fool wasn’t coming up to speed fast enough. Hell, if she gave him another minute, maybe he’d start yammering about going back to square one and getting another opinion about whether Jalen had renal failure at all. Maybe he’d suggest a dose of amoxicillin to see if that got Jalen back on his feet.

Didn’t he understand how hard she’d fought to get this far? Didn’t he know that she was desperate and overwrought and had nowhere else to turn? What more did she have to do?

Losing it completely, she smacked her palms on top his desk and leaned down to get in his face. “Don’t but me! My son is sick! He’s going to die! Do you want me to beg? Is that it? Well, here it is. Help me. You’re my only hope. You’re my only hope! You’re my only—”

“Okay.” There was a flash of movement, and then, suddenly, he was on his feet, turning her to face him and grabbing her biceps to keep her from crumpling to the floor. The next thing she knew, he was in her face, instead of the other way around, soothing and reassuring. “Shhh, Lia,” he murmured. “It’s okay. You don’t have to do this by yourself anymore. It’s okay. I’ll help you. It’s okay.”

Hysteria had her around the throat, ready to suck her under, but she gasped in a shaky breath and tried to hold it off. Just for a little while longer, until she was certain she’d heard right and wasn’t getting her hopes up only so they could be smashed on the rocks.

“Y-you believe me?”

He stared at her and then, slowly, nodded.

“You’ll be tested to see if you’re a match?”

“If the DNA test first confirms that he’s my son, then yes.”

Could it be this easy? After all her struggles to get to this point?

She stared into his eyes, determined to root out any trickery.

There was none. Only his unwavering gaze, absolute and determined. And she knew, suddenly, that they had real hope now, she and Jalen. Better than that, they had a powerful ally. Thomas Bradshaw would help them in their fight against this terrible enemy, who had so many more resources than they did.

The relief was so sharp and overwhelming that her knees went squishy. A sob filled up her throat but not before she managed to whisper two words:

“Thank you.”

Gratitude made her lose her head. Before she knew what she was doing, she was wrapping him in her arms, hugging him hard and trying to show how thankful she was, even if she couldn’t say it. Naturally, he stiffened with shock, probably wondering if he should have his receptionist get security in there to kick Lia out after all.

Her cheeks burned hot with embarrassment as she got a grip. “Sorry,” she muttered, easing up and ready to back away and let the poor man go. But then a strange thing happened.

Thomas hugged her back, gathering her in arms that were hard and strong and bringing her up against a broad chest, which was a lovely resting spot for her weary head. A croon rumbled in his throat, reassuring her without words, and the delicious warm scent of his skin, fresh from a recent shower, she thought, fogged her brain.

That was when reality intruded.

It had been years since she’d been pressed close to any man like this, and she wasn’t immune to this particular man’s appeal, even in her frazzled state. They fit together too well, and it shouldn’t feel this good or this right to be chest to chest and thigh to thigh with someone she’d just met. Now was not the time for her dormant hormones to wake up and demand attention.

Coming to her senses, she pulled free and stepped back, catching a flash of turbulence, quickly managed and hidden, in his expression. They shifted awkwardly, fumbling with their limbs as though they’d each grown a new pair and didn’t know quite how to work them, and then stared in opposite directions.

Finally, Thomas cleared his throat.

“So,” he said, “there’s a lab about a mile from here.”

Her lungs loosened up, allowing her to breathe again. Medical tests and procedures were second nature to her, unlike dizzying hugs from sexy men. “Right. Should I take Jalen there for the paternity test?”

“Yeah. I’ll arrange it.”

“Great.” Now that they were back in familiar territory, she risked a glance at his eyes, which was as jarring as a ten-foot drop in an elevator. Those brown eyes were way too intense and, for all she knew, saw too much.

And yet, she couldn’t look away.

“Knock-knock, dearie.” The receptionist tapped on the door and, without waiting for an answer, opened it and poked her head inside, providing just the snap back to reality that Lia needed. “Don’t forget your staff meeting. We don’t want this young lady with no manners to make you late, now, do we?”

Much to Lia’s surprise, Thomas demonstrated the beginnings of a sense of humor and quirked a brow. “This young lady does need work with her manners, but she has a name, and we should probably use it. Lia Taylor, meet my receptionist, Mrs. Brennan.”

The women exchanged reserved smiles and a grudging handshake, during which Mrs. Brennan’s keen gaze skimmed over Lia from head to foot, probably noting everything from her choice in eye shadow to her suspected weight and shoe size. This examination culminated in Mrs. Brennan shooting a wry glance at Thomas.

“Well, she’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she, Doctor? And don’t pretend you haven’t noticed.” A scowl crept across his face, flattening his brows and thinning his lips, but Mrs. Brennan seemed oblivious to this nonverbal warning and kept right on chirping. “I think I’ll just have to keep my eye on this one, won’t I?”

“Ah, Mrs. Brennan.” Thomas’s voice now had a steely edge. “You remember that discussion we had earlier, don’t you?”

Mrs. Brennan waved a hand. “Oh, I’m not digging into your personal life. I’m simply noting, in passing, mind you, that there’s something striking about wee Lia. You agree, don’t you?” And without waiting for any answer, she waggled those fingers again and swept back up the hall.

Lia gaped after her. What the hell was the poor man supposed to say to that?

Thomas cleared his throat and quickly busied himself by straightening some files on his desk. “Sorry about that,” he muttered. “Mrs. Brennan takes some, ah, getting used to, and I’m not sure—”

“It’s okay.” Lia shrugged and ducked her head as she started to leave, determined to get out of there before she either burst into tears again, or worse, her burning cheeks ignited. “I need to get back to work, anyway. I’ll get out of your hair. Bye.”

“Lia,” he said sharply.

“Yes?”

“You didn’t tell me …”

He hesitated, looking grim. He was allowed, she supposed; she’d dumped five tons of bricks on him in the last several minutes. Another of those endless beats passed between them, and she almost thought she saw color creep up his jaw from his neck. Was the arrogant surgeon feeling as flustered as she was right now? And why did it matter to her one way or the other?

“How can I stay in touch with you?” he asked.




Chapter 4


Thomas watched Lia go, straining his ears for any sound of her heels, long after she disappeared from view. There was some event he needed to go to pretty soon, he thought, but since his brain no longer seemed to be functional, he couldn’t remember what it was. Rounds, right? Wait—no. Patients. He had appointments with patients, and then he—No. That wasn’t it, either. He had a … meeting. A staff meeting. That was it. He should get going.

Except that stunned paralysis kept his ass stuck to his chair.

For the first time in living memory, possibly the first time ever, he didn’t know what to do. Which was funny because he was a textbook type-A control freak who could handle whatever emergencies life threw his way. Need someone to head up the surgery department? He was your man. Need a surgeon to keep someone from bleeding out on the table? Look no further. Need a physician to teach, publish and cook a mean three-course dinner in his spare time? Right here, pal.

A crisis in someone else’s life was a piece of cake.

A crisis in his own life was a whole ‘nother kettle of stinking fish.

Jesus.

What on earth was he supposed to do now?

Why couldn’t he get his thoughts to coalesce into something coherent? Something other than:

I have a son. I have a son with Lia. Our son could die.

There was no room for might, possibly or could.

I might have a son. Uh-uh. That didn’t work for him at all.

He had a son. Period. End of story.

And that was another thing. He hadn’t signed up for this. He’d been minding his own business, doing his own thing, not looking to be a daddy, so why did he now feel excitement at the idea of meeting the boy and terror at the idea of him being so sick?

Was he insane? Had all his marbles suddenly been lost?

He’d had a fatherhood scare once, about three years ago. A condom had ripped. While he’d tried not to hyperventilate with panic at the idea of being saddled with a kid at that point in his life, not to mention that particular girlfriend as a baby mama, she’d chattered happily about their future together if she was pregnant. He’d sweated bullets until she got her period, and then he’d answered the wake-up call and said his goodbyes, because she wasn’t the one and never would have been the one. That wasn’t the time. He hadn’t been ready.

Not that he was ready now. Of course he wasn’t ready.

No way.

Even if there was that unaccountable excitement surging inside him.

But he couldn’t go off all half-cocked. He probably should see about getting a lawyer and—

That was it! Max. He needed Max.

Snatching up his cell phone, he dialed the number, wishing for the billionth time, that Max Wade, his roommate from Dartmouth undergrad lived closer to Alexandria than NYC. It’d be nice to have this discussion over a Scotch and a steak after work, rather than in a hurried phone call.

Anyway, Max would help him out. He had the cold-blooded shrewdness of a great white shark and the sentimentality that polar bears feel for sea lions. Max would talk some sense into him or die trying.

“Maxwell Wade, attorney-at-law,” said Max in his ear after the third ring. “Speak to me. My time is money and you’re already up to eighty-five dollars for this phone call.”

Typical. “You’re full of shit, Wade, you know that? I’m wondering, does it squish in your shoes when you walk?”

Max laughed. “The answer to that question will cost you another eighty-five. It’s up to you.”

Emotion tightened down Thomas’s throat, making it hard for him to get the words out. Plus, saying it would make it real, and God knew, he wasn’t ready for that. On the other hand, if he was a father, he’d need to step up to the plate.

“I’ve got a situation,” he said.

The smile left Max’s voice. “Sounds serious.”

“I … think I have an eight-year-old son.”

“Oh, shit, man.”

“That about sums it up, yeah.”

Max whooshed out a breath. “How do you know?”

“The boy’s mother told me—”

“Hold up. You can’t take somebody’s word for that, Tommy. You know that.”

“I know.”

“Have you had a DNA test yet?”

“Not yet. But I’m going to.”

“Yeah, well, in the meantime, you keep your mouth shut, you hear? You don’t sign anything, you don’t admit to anything and you don’t—”

For reasons that eluded him at the moment, Thomas found himself getting irritated. “Look, man, I’m not trying to weasel out of my responsibilities here.”

“Your alleged responsibilities. Got it? Alleged. And until that test comes back saying you’re the one, all you have is some woman’s word for it. And you better believe she knows how much money you have, and she wants to get paid. So, you just cool it for now.”

“I’ve seen the boy, man. He looks just like me.”

It sounded like Max was choking with outrage. “I didn’t raise you to be that stupid, man. Please tell me you didn’t meet the kid, and now you think he’s all cute, like a puppy and shit—”

“Of course not. But his picture looks just like me at that age.”

“One word, man. Photoshop.”

These were all good points, and this was exactly the kind of advice he’d hoped to hear when he dialed Max’s number. So why did the brother’s doubts about Lia and her motives make him want to reach through the phone and jam his fist down Max’s throat?

“She’s not a gold digger,” he said flatly. “I know.”

“Oh, you know.” Max snorted with derisive laughter. “How do you know?”

“Because I can feel it.” The words came out strong and sure, even though Thomas knew how crazy all this was. He could feel it. Oh, really? Please. But he could feel it, even if he couldn’t explain it. If there was one thing he knew about Lia Taylor with utter certainty, it was that. “And the boy’s in renal failure.”

“Oh, no.” Max gasped with shock, and Thomas could see him shaking his head and then resting his forehead on his hands. He appreciated the sympathy. “God help you.”

“Yeah,” Thomas agreed grimly. “God help all three of us.”

“Ready for bed?” Lia asked.

She hovered in Jalen’s doorway, trying to get a bead on his mood at the moment. He was generally resigned to going to bed at nine o’clock, but every now and then he pitched a fit and wanted extra time for whatever computerizing he was doing on her MacBook. The kid had inherited a double dose of her technology skills and loved anything with a memory card in it, which had its ups and downs. His grades were great, and she was always safe in getting him the latest gadget for Christmas, but the downside was she lived in fear of an irate call from the CIA claiming that he’d hacked into their spy satellite system or some such.

Tonight, though, the computer was open but untouched, and that worried her.

Bustling inside, she worked on keeping her voice upbeat. “Jammies? Check. Showered?” She sniffed under his arm for deodorant. “Check. You just need to brush your teeth, and you’ll be good to go.”

Jalen was a devoted Trekkie. Today’s pajama selection was a black knit set with white writing that proclaimed him a Future Starship Captain, and he was collapsed against his USS Enterprise pillows. Unfortunately, he looked worse than he had a mere hour ago at dinner, and seemed drawn and exhausted, barely able to keep his lids from drooping.

Lia’s heart sank because they’d lost ground again today, and Jalen’s weakening body was that much closer to killing him.

They were always losing ground, never gaining it, which was why she’d been driven to desperate acts, like hacking into sperm-donor databases. There were times, like now, when she wondered if he’d fade or wither away right before her eyes. In the old days, before he got sick, he’d relished this computer time. His fingers would fly over the keyboard, tapping out God knew what at a rate of about ninety words per minute. Not lately, though. Not for a while. She’d started dreading tomorrows, because each one took a little bit more out of her boy, and she didn’t know how many he’d have left if he didn’t get a new kidney soon.

Still, his personality was alive and well inside that failing body. His brows scrunched so low over his forehead that it was a wonder she could see his scowling eyes.

Eyes that were, she now knew, exactly like his father’s.

“It’s pajamas, Mom,” he informed her. “Not Jammies.”

“Pardon me.” She nudged aside a couple of LEGO spaceships that he’d assembled, disassembled and reassembled approximately 1.5 million times and sat on the edge of his bed. “Why have you not engaged in your nightly computer gaming, young sir?”

He grunted. “Like it matters.”

She rolled her eyes and bit back a sharp reply, hanging on to her crucial serenity by a slender thread. Whoever said that eight-year-olds were too young for hormone surges was a damn liar. On the other hand, if ever a kid had a reason to be occasionally sullen, this one did. Renal failure and dialysis did that to a person.

She gave him a critical once-over. He was thinner. Always thinner. When he wasn’t retaining water, that was. He hadn’t eaten much of the homemade chicken nuggets she’d served him at dinner. But his blood pressure had been fine earlier, so that was one good thing.

Which left only ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine other items to keep her from getting any sleep.

“Were you editing today’s video?” Under the guise of snuggling, she wrapped an arm around his shoulder and leaned in close to press a lingering kiss to his temple. Oh, thank goodness. He didn’t feel warm at all. She was always worried about an infection developing around his access.

“Mom!” Squirming away, Jalen nailed her with a weak glower. “I don’t have a fever, okay? Jeez.”

“Oops,” she said, stung that the little stinker could read her so easily. “Well, sorrr-yyy. I need to check. It’s my job.”

Apparently exhausted by the effort it took to wage a protest, he slumped back against the pillows. “And I don’t have any swelling or redness around my access, either. Okay? So I don’t need an inspection. Thank you!”

He huffed, exchanging a can-you-believe-that look of deepest disgust with Bones, his ten-pound floppy-eared bunny, who occupied his usual place of honor in the basket on the nightstand. Bones twitched his nose in seeming sympathy with Jalen’s plight, scratched at his black collar with a powerful hind leg and then went back to systematically shredding his fleece blanket with his massive front teeth.

Okay, Lia, she told herself. Try not to be such a helicopter parent. Don’t let your rotors show.

Letting Jalen go, she stretched out beside him and focused on the video he hadn’t had the energy to edit. In today’s episode of The Bunny Chronicles, downloaded fresh from the pet-cam Bones habitually wore around his neck, the rabbit hopped around the house and explored the space behind the living-room sofa, nibbled the fringe on the Navajo rug in Lia’s bedroom and shredded and ate a small piece of paper that had fallen to the side of Lia’s desk.

“Is that the Walmart receipt for the sheets I bought last week?” she wondered, squinting at the screen for a closer look. “I’ve been looking for that.”

“Bones strikes again,” Jalen murmured.

“How come he never eats any of your stuff?”

“Training, Mom.” His voice was growing fainter; she’d lose him to sleep soon. “It’s all about the training.”




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