SH Medical 07 - The Detective's Accidental Baby (10 page)

“Since you aren’t arguing, I’ll take that as a yes.” Lock slid off the desk and opened the door.

Erica’s fists tightened. She wanted to get this over with now. To have the decision made, to know that after November, she’d be a free woman. No lingering ties to Lock, no hearing about the baby from mutual acquaintances, and no likelihood of running into them and being forced to see her child growing up without her.

Too late. From the outer office, the receptionist was staring inquisitively in their direction.

“Fine,” Erica snapped. “Six o’clock. Bring the paper to sign.”

“We’ll talk.” With a maddeningly pleasant smile, Lock left the suite. The receptionist’s admiring glance followed him, further annoying Erica.

Making love with him had been a wonderful experience. Why couldn’t they have had a chance to enjoy spending time together free of confrontations and disputes? Instead, the damn condom had broken, and now here they were with a child’s future at stake. Not to mention their own futures.

Erica wished she’d arranged to meet him today away from the hospital, where he wouldn’t have seen that adorable baby girl. Even Erica had itched to pick up little Julie and cuddle her when she’d started fussing. But unlike Lock, Erica had a good notion from babysitting her cousins just how quickly a cranky baby could exhaust you.

En route to the nurses’ locker room, she continued fuming. As she’d said, a baby wasn’t a toy. Dr. T had the privilege of handing the restless tyke over to his wife. While Bailey was technically on leave from her nursing job, she’d set no date for returning, and obviously reveled in motherhood. Besides, the couple was madly in love. In every way, parenthood suited them.

Neither Erica nor Lock fit that picture. As for his sudden fixation on fatherhood, Erica felt certain a therapist would say he was compensating for his deprived childhood and seeking to relive it through his son or daughter. She had to be an advocate for this child’s right to a stable, loving home, preferably with two parents.
Parents a lot better than him or me,
she added silently as she changed to street clothes and retrieved her purse.

Emerging into a hallway, she nearly collided with a volunteer carrying a vase of flowers. “Oh!” As the woman clutched the vase to keep from dropping it, Erica recognized Renée. “I’m so sorry!” they both said.

When the older woman stood there hugging the vase and breathing hard instead of moving on, Erica added, “Are you all right?”

“I should watch where I’m going,” she said, her voice trembling.

Erica didn’t bother to argue, although she felt equally at fault. “You seem upset. What is it?”

For a suspended moment, she thought Renée might burst into tears. Then the volunteer said, “It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

Much as she longed for solitude to mull over Lock’s unreasonable demand, Erica couldn’t ignore such distress. “Do you need to talk?”

Renée’s shoulders sagged. “I hate to dump my problems on you, especially since I brought them on myself.”

“Dump away.”

“I can’t right now. I have a lot to do.”

Moving aside for an aide pushing a gurney, Erica asked, “When would be a good time to talk?”

“Could you come by my place tonight?” Renée said. “I’d appreciate a sympathetic ear.”

“Absolutely.” Erica felt honored that the older woman was willing to confide in her.

“I gave you my address, right?”

“Got it.” She’d saved the paper Renée had given her. “Say around seven?”

“Perfect.”

With a faint smile, the volunteer whisked the vase toward the patient rooms. Although Erica had offered sympathy impulsively, she discovered that she looked forward to spending the evening with her new friend. Not only would it feel good to help someone, but for once, she’d rather not be left alone with her thoughts.

Otherwise, she might spend the entire time stewing over how to defend against Lock’s arguments. He could be very persuasive, she had no doubt. But she was determined to stand her ground.

For the child’s sake, as well as her own.

Chapter Ten

To compensate for taking personal time off on Friday afternoon, Lock stayed late at the office, researching the case of a runaway husband. There’d been no indications of foul play or suicide in the disappearance two days ago of forty-two-year-old Josiah Eckert, a self-employed handyman. Apparently he’d grown tired of money troubles and bickering with his wife, but that was no excuse for abandoning her and his two stepchildren.

“The real problem is that he’s addicted to video games,” his frazzled wife had told Lock when he’d visited her house that morning. Resting her feet on an ottoman—she’d explained they hurt from her waitress job—she’d kept busy folding a basket of sheets and towels as they talked. “He’s probably holed up in a motel room, glued to a computer screen, but I’m worried about him. Although the police took a report, it doesn’t seem like much of a priority for them.”

Lock found no activity on the man’s credit card. However, according to Mrs. Eckert, her husband had withdrawn five thousand dollars they’d banked for emergencies. Presumably he could stay hidden for a while.

The guy wasn’t answering his cell and hadn’t contacted any friends. Lock had canvassed the neighbors without luck, and the laptop that held the guy’s client list had walked out the door with him. However, Mr. Eckert’s haphazard record keeping system might prove his undoing. He’d used copies of old receipts as bookmarks in his stack of girlie magazines, and several had yielded addresses that led to phone numbers. This evening, Lock made half a dozen calls. He received two out-of-service recordings, left messages on three voice mail accounts, and talked to one hard-of-hearing fellow who kept shouting, “What? Who?” until Lock gave up.

He would try again tomorrow. Sooner or later, he’d find Josiah Eckert, or the guy might return on his own. Speaking of finding people… Lock checked his email. Still no word from his possible birth mother. The website should have notified her a few days ago. What was delaying her response, or would there ever be one?

Surely she owed him the courtesy of an answer, so he could at least cross her off his list. And if she actually was his mother, she owed him a lot more than that.

Finally finished with the day’s work, Lock drove home. The single-story house he and Mike rented lay on the east side of town, between homes brightened by rose arbors and striped awnings. While the landlord had spruced up the house with new paint, the aging roof had sprung a leak during the recent rains and required emergency patching. As for the lawn and shrubs, they fell into the category of barely adequate.

Lock wanted his kid to grow up in a house he or she could be proud of. Funny, he’d never cared about things like that before.

As he stepped inside, he registered the loud whine of engines accompanied by male voices calling, “Pick it up!” and “Whew! Close one.”

He’d once mentioned to a date that guys liked to watch videos of motorcycle racing, and she’d regarded him as if the top of his head had swung open to reveal a nest of snakes. Must be a guy thing.

Sure enough, his brother and a few pals from the police department were sprawled in the living room, beers in hand and feet propped on the coffee table, while bikes roared across the TV screen.

After a wave of acknowledgment, Lock went to pull on some old jeans and a T-shirt. Standing in the middle of his bedroom with its much-pierced dartboard, he realized it wasn’t just the exterior that bothered him.

Bunch of beer-drinking guys in the front room. Pool table in the den. Motorcycle videos, a treadmill in Mike’s room that creaked and thumped, darts scattered across Lock’s bureau and onto the floor. How was an infant going to fit in?

Lock studied the room. Once he cleaned up the darts, he could put a crib by the window. Sharing a room wasn’t ideal, but it meant he’d be available whenever the baby needed him. And when it was older, he’d rent a place with an extra bedroom.

He didn’t know how to change a diaper, what type of formula to buy or at what age a baby started eating solid food. But he could learn.

While it was true that his foster mom should be a font of good advice, it was too bad she and his foster dad planned to retire soon and tour the country in their RV. As for Mike, he wasn’t going to like having a pair of lusty newborn lungs sharing the house.

Am I going off half-cocked?
Logically, Lock had to consider the possibility that Erica was right, no matter what his heart told him.

“Yo, Sherlock!” Mike shouted from the other end of the house. “We’re ordering pizza. You in?”

“You bet!” Rousing himself from his reverie, Lock hurried to the kitchen.

Three faces greeted him. “You know Hank and Steven, right?” Mike asked.

“Sure.” Tall and lean with dark hair silvering around the edges, Steven was the detective lieutenant at Mike’s old bureau. Hank, whose eyes, one blue and one brown, gave him a disconcerting gaze, worked crimes against property.

“You want pepperoni, right?” Hank asked.

“Veggie,” Mike corrected.

“Here’s a wildly extravagant idea. Let’s order both,” Steven said.

“Whatever.” Lock would eat almost anything you could slap on a pizza. Well, not crazy about anchovies.

“And how about some of those deep-fried dessert things with icing?” the lieutenant asked. “My daughter has a fit if I bring sweets into the house, so I’m sugar-deprived. She’s on a perpetual diet. I don’t think it’s an eating disorder, but I’m keeping watch.”

Lock recalled Patty mentioning that Steven, a widower, had recently returned from family leave to care for his daughter after a traffic accident. “She’s recovered from her injuries?”

“Aside from a few scars and a slight limp, she’s perfect.” The guy narrowed his eyes at Mike. “Are you going to make that call or do I have to make it for you?”

“Hold your horses.” Mike pressed a button. Pizza on speed dial.

“Remember the pepperoni,” Hank interjected. “None of that sissy health food for me.”

“Veggie pizza is not health food,” Mike corrected.

“Says you.” Hank wandered into the attached den and grimaced at the pool table. “What lame brain didn’t rack the balls? That’s a crime.”

Lock, who couldn’t remember whether he was the guilty party, ignored the gibe. He had more important things to think about, such as the fact that before him stood a real live single father. A man with answers.

Revealing his situation was out of the question. It would be unfair to make common gossip of Erica’s pregnancy, plus there was no telling how Mike might react. Best to be discreet.

As an opening, Lock asked, “Where’s your daughter tonight?”

Steven shuddered. “On a date.”

He had been picturing a grade schooler. “How old is she?”

“Fourteen,” the lieutenant said. “And for reasons I fail to understand, she refuses to wear a chastity belt.”

He thought of Kelli DiDonato smoking after school. “How do you keep a lid on things? I get the idea teenagers listen to their friends more than their parents.”

Still on the phone, Mike slanted a puzzled glance in his direction.

“I set rules,” the lieutenant replied. “Before a date, I meet the guy
and
his parents, and one of the parents has to do the driving. Tonight I dropped the kids off at the movies, and the boy’s mother is picking them up.”

That sounded reasonable. “She doesn’t sneak out?” Quickly, Lock explained, “One of my clients is having problems with his niece.”

“I’m frank with her about the dangers out there, and Layla’s mature for her age. She’s been through a lot.” After tossing his beer can into a recycling container, Steven took a diet soda from the fridge. “My wife died when my daughter was eight. Then last year a truck driver plowed into the school bus and put her in the hospital for weeks. She had to be homeschooled for months and relied on me to drive her to therapy. Sometimes a kid requires a full-time parent, and I was the only one on tap.”

“Tough financially,” Lock sympathized.

“But worth it.”

“You sure are fascinated with helping this client,” Mike muttered.

“I’m a big-hearted guy,” Lock replied, and went to knock a few balls around with Hank.

He spent the rest of the evening trying to act as if everything was normal and ducked into his room after the guests left. Too many thoughts were caroming off each other for him to deal with his brother’s third degree.

The strangest part, Lock reflected as he settled back to play a game on his smartphone, was that instead of being put off by the idea of coping with challenges as his son or daughter grew, he found the prospect exhilarating. His brush with death in the bank robbery had raised a lot of issues, not only about where he came from, but about where he was going.

Steven’s love for his daughter clearly trumped everything else in his life. How rewarding to watch her develop into a young woman, despite the scary parts.

Lock could picture himself cheering as his son or daughter played sports. Bursting with pride as he or she graduated.
Dad.
Yeah, he wanted that honor. It would be the best reward of all to hear his grown child say to a friend, “My dad was tough on me, but he’s the greatest.”

Earlier, he’d told Erica he wasn’t given to fantasizing. He’d been wrong about that.

But not, Lock concluded, about anything else. Especially the snap decision that was rapidly hardening into an immovable resolution.

T
HE
MOMENT
E
RICA
spotted Renée’s fairy-tale cottage, she adored it. After her hostess ushered her inside, she discovered an interior to match, with china cabinets full of figurines, stenciled designs on the walls and upholstery embroidered with flowers.

Cozy as this place was, Renée’s jittery manner showed her distress. She bustled about offering to prepare tea or serve cookies, both of which Erica declined. “Please tell me what’s on your mind,” she said.

“You’re sure you won’t have tea?”

“I’m fine.” Erica settled onto a dainty chair. “It might be easier if you just dive in.”

The woman sank into the couch. “Where shall I start?”

“Wherever you like.”

Renée inhaled quickly. “I told you once that I didn’t have children. That’s not entirely true.”

“What do you mean?” Erica’s interest quickened. She’d expected a confidence regarding finances or health, not this.

“When I was young, I gave up a baby for adoption.”

Erica felt a rush of sympathy. “That must have been difficult.”

“It was the right decision at the time.” Renée chewed her lip before continuing. “Now he’s contacted me. Or rather, I heard from the adoption website. I’m afraid I’m not explaining this very well.”

“Take your time,” Erica said.

The older woman’s hands tightened in her lap. “You’re very easy to talk to. Well…it’s my own fault. After my husband died, a couple of years ago, I posted my name and a little information on this website. I told myself it was so I could answer any questions my son might have, but the truth is, after losing Hubert, I lost my sense of purpose. For thirty years we’d been everything to each other, and I guess I was hoping to find someone to love.”

“Aren’t you still?” Erica asked.

Renée shrugged. “I’d almost forgotten about the whole thing, to tell the truth. Once I became involved at the hospital, my feelings of isolation disappeared. Plus I’m sort of an honorary grandmother to Bailey and Dr. T’s twins, since they have no living grandparents.”

“You said your son contacted you. What did he say?” Erica found the prospect both fascinating and disturbing. What if her son or daughter turned up someday demanding answers?

Renée didn’t seem to notice her distraction. “He can’t write to me directly. It doesn’t work that way. The site sent me his email address and a message indicating he wants to get in touch. That’s all.”

That didn’t seem terribly threatening, especially since the match was apparently based on a small amount of data. “Are you sure he’s your son?”

“There’s a high probability, in my opinion. The details match—birth date, adoption agency and so forth.” Renée swallowed hard. “It’s painful to remember those days. I hadn’t considered how much this would bring up after thirty-five years.”

“You said it was the right decision,” Erica reminded her. “But I suppose it’s always difficult.” Look at how much trouble she was running into with her own situation.

“I was seventeen. My parents were angry with me and in denial about the baby, and I couldn’t have raised him on my own.” Renée sounded as if she was trying to justify her actions.

“Of course not.” Much as Erica disliked prying, her friend needed to get all this off her chest. “What about the father? Didn’t he try to help you?”

“He couldn’t.”

“He was married?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that.” Renée blinked hard. “He… I wish—” She broke off.

Erica leaned forward and patted her hand. “You don’t have to talk about this.”

“Yes, I do.” She cleared her throat. “If you don’t mind.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Vick was two years older than me. Cute and sexy, zooming around in his souped-up car. He’d been in trouble with the law a few times, but nothing serious. He was my parents’ worst nightmare, which made him irresistible.” A ghost of a smile crossed the woman’s face. “Until I met him at a party, I’d always been a Goody Two-shoes.”