SH Medical 07 - The Detective's Accidental Baby (3 page)

Soon the gathering broke up. Unlike Erica, most of the attendees still had an hour or so left in their workday. She went out alone, carrying the cushions in their pretty shopping bag and balancing the leftover cake in a catering box. Along the walkway that led to the parking garage, rays of late-afternoon sunshine brought out the vibrant purples and yellows in a bed of pansies. It hadn’t been such a bad birthday, after all.

The screech of brakes and the furious blare of a horn sent her heart thundering into her throat. A short distance away, a laundry service van had pulled out in front of a flower delivery truck, which missed it by inches. The drivers glared at each other and then the van backed out of the way.

Erica felt her heart pumping hard as she headed to her car. She was shaking so badly she could barely balance the cake on the bumper as she opened the trunk to put everything inside.

The near collision had banished her sense of well-being, leaving a void quickly filled by a rush of guilt.
How could I laugh and enjoy myself, today of all days?

She sat behind the wheel until she stopped trembling. She needed to shake this off and restore her equilibrium.

She’d unload her stuff at home, change clothes and drive to the park. If the track was still muddy, she could run on the grass until she was too tired to do anything but collapse in front of the TV and stuff herself with spice cake.

L
OCK
HADN
’
T
BEEN
thinking about Erica the entire week, just most of it. Hard not to, while he wrote up the results of the investigation, complete with photos. Even the shots taken in less-than-ideal light and from quirky angles showed those soulful eyes and her generous mouth.

He hadn’t concentrated on her case exclusively, of course. He’d conducted background checks on a couple of new employees for a large company, testified in a custody case about the husband’s motel dates with female companions and located a missing autistic man at a video arcade. He’d also checked the park a few times, but in view of the rainy weather, wasn’t surprised that Erica stayed away.

Give it up,
Lock told himself on Friday afternoon. Having worked the previous evening, he felt justified in knocking off early, but he did
not
feel justified in trying to contact a woman he’d checked out for a client.

Yet he steered automatically toward City Hall Park. The thing was, Lock reflected, he ought to have one more casual conversation with Erica so he could get past this inexplicable sense that they were connected.

As he pulled into the nearly empty lot, a small dog ran in front of his car. Lock hit the brakes and was glad when the pooch fled unharmed.

Since dogs weren’t allowed to run loose in Safe Harbor, this fluffy critter must be someone’s lost pet. After parking, Lock surveyed the area. No sign of Fluffy. He circled along a walkway, whistling and calling, “Here, boy!” For good measure, he tried, “Here, girl!” Neither produced any results. Except for a few hardy skateboarders trying tricks farther along on the cement path, the park appeared deserted.

Lock made one more swing around the parking lot. In a corner, he spotted a familiar blue sedan with hospital decals on the windshield. A surge of pleasure lifted his spirits. She’d come back.

He parked and set out for the track. Topping a slight rise, he was disappointed not to spot Erica’s slim figure anywhere on the beaten oval. Even from here, he could see lingering puddles that indicated it was too muddy for running. Where had she gone?

The swish of running shoes made him turn. “Well, well, if it isn’t Sherlock Holmes,” said the keen-eyed blonde with what might have been either a smile or a grimace. Hard to tell which as she raced past on the grass. “Looking for clues, Detective?”

Although he hadn’t dressed for exercise, Lock pushed off, enjoying the view of the dark rose track suit stretching over her lithe figure. He ignored the twinges in his leg as he lengthened his stride to catch her. “I’d like to explain something. About my being a detective…”

Her gaze bathed him in skepticism. “Don’t tell me. You made that up.”

“No, but I did give you the wrong impression. I don’t work for the police department,” he said as they crunched across a scattering of fallen twigs.

“Who do you work for?”

“Private agency.” He caught a whiff of jasmine. Perfume, shampoo or a nearby flowering bush? Didn’t matter. The scent seemed to float around Erica.

“Confession is good for the soul,” she returned, “but why bother?”

“Because I like you.”

She came to a stop, hands on hips, chest swelling as she caught her breath. Wisps of blond hair haloed her face. “First impressions aside, I’m willing to grant that you’re a nice enough guy, Sherlock, or whatever your real name is.”

“Lock Vaughn,” he said. “And there’s a ‘but’ coming, isn’t there? How about if we discuss it over dinner?”

“No, thanks. You’ve picked a bad day to try to charm me or whatever you’re doing,” Erica said.

“I don’t want anything more than friendship. Of an extremely casual nature,” Lock assured her. At the moment, he meant it.

“It always starts that way.”

“Believe me—”

“That’s the thing, Detective. I’m not big on believing people. And like I said, you have terrible timing.”

Usually, Lock was able to keep a step ahead of the women he met, which helped in winning them over. But Erica thought as fast as he did, and now she caught him off guard by swiveling and racing away. Despite the urge to go after her, better judgment prevailed. The lady had said no.

From the rise, Lock watched her angle down toward the sidewalk that edged Civic Center Drive. Then loud barking drew his attention away—to Fluffy, racing on short legs across the ground, with a big, scraggly dog loping behind him.

Lock saw Erica glance toward the barking and stop, as if trying to decide what to do. The larger dog eased off, but Fluffy, too terrified to notice, leaped into the street with a frightened yelp.

From his vantage point, Lock registered the approach of a fast-moving sport utility vehicle. With a jolt, he flashed on what was about to happen.

Furiously, he pelted across the grass, yelling, “Look out!” Erica frowned in his direction, unable to see what was so clear to him.

Just as he’d known would happen, brakes squealed and the SUV swerved to avoid the panic-stricken little dog. The vehicle leaped the low curb and skidded out of control.

Straight toward Erica.

Chapter Three

She’d almost felt guilty for abandoning Lock when he’d been trying so hard to ingratiate himself. The guy was an intriguing mix of rough edges and smooth talk that Erica couldn’t quite figure out, and once upon a time she’d have stuck around to explore what lay beneath the surface.

But despite the instincts drawing her toward him, she’d had to break away. Had to run until her brain shut down and she forgot everything except straining muscles and the thrum of her heart.

A burst of barking had drawn her attention to a couple of dogs. As she’d weighed whether to risk intervening, the bigger dog gave up the chase. Now why had that little pooch kept on running, right into the street? She’d heard Lock shout, but that was only likely to frighten the dog further.

Then she saw the detective waving at her in alarm. At the same moment, a crunch of tires drew Erica’s attention to the SUV veering toward her, a woman gripping the steering wheel in obvious panic. Although it appeared she had time to stop, she hit the accelerator by mistake, making the vehicle leap forward.

Erica’s legs grew leaden, as if gravity had tripled its hold. Which way to go? Either direction might put her in the path of this unpredictable driver.

The daylight dimmed. Erica heard the shriek of metal and the sickening crunch of glass, and felt a heavy body slamming into her. Someone was lifting her, falling on her—no, that had been years ago, a decade ago—yanking her up the hill, and the car swerved again, jounced back onto the pavement and jolted to a halt.

Tremors racked Erica so hard she feared her knees would fold. Strong arms wrapped around her, gathering her against a solid male chest.

Vaguely, she heard a woman crying, “Are you all right? I’m so sorry. I was trying to miss that dog.”

“You nearly hit her.” The outrage in Lock’s voice rumbled through Erica.

“Is she injured? I have insurance.” The woman came into focus, fidgeting on the sidewalk. She appeared to be in her forties, and wearing a tailored pantsuit and high heels as she was, had probably just left work. “I’m driving my husband’s SUV because my car’s in the shop, and I’m not used to it. Should I call an ambulance?”

“No.” Erica didn’t need paramedics. She just wanted to go home.

The woman rummaged in her purse and pulled out a wallet. “Here’s my driver’s license and insurance card. You should write this down. You might discover later that you’ve twisted something. I guess we should call the police, too, shouldn’t we?”

“That’s up to Erica. There was no collision.” Lock sounded reassuringly calm, although she could still hear the anger in his voice.

Erica shivered. She couldn’t face the police with their endless questions and delays. Besides, what was there to say? “I’m okay.”

“All the same, we should take her information.” Releasing her, Lock copied the data from the documents into a small notebook.

“Call me if you have any problem, anything at all.” The woman’s voice cracked, and Erica realized the incident had shaken her, too.

“I do have a request.” Lock pointed across the street, where the small dog was sniffing around a covered trash can. Its former pursuer had vanished. “See if you can find that dog’s owner. There’s a tag on his collar.”

“Of course!” She sounded relieved at having something to do.

“And get your tires checked. You may have damaged them with that maneuver,” he added.

“I will. Thank you! And again, I’m so sorry.” Off went the woman. Erica was pleased to see her carefully approach the little dog, which backed off a few steps but wagged its tail and let her pick it up.

“Happy ending,” said Lock.

“Let’s hope.” As her fear eased, it occurred to Erica that she was acting like a scared stray herself. “Thanks for shoring me up. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Shock. It’s a natural reaction.” Up close, she could see the rough grain of his skin and the inviting curve of his mouth.

“Well, I’m over it.”

“Don’t count on that. Traffic accidents can traumatize people even when they’re physically unharmed.”

“I thought you weren’t a cop,” Erica retorted, taking refuge in irony.

Lock studied her sympathetically. “Until recently, I was a sheriff’s deputy in Coconino County, Arizona.”

“And now, by sheer luck, you find yourself in California, rescuing women in pink jogging suits?” she responded, trying to ignore the cold bite of the breeze. Around them, the shadows had lengthened as the early February darkness closed in.

He reached for her hands. “Let’s get you to a warm place.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re trembling.”

Erica hadn’t noticed, but he was right. “Walk me to my car. I’ll turn the heater up full blast, I promise.”

“Glad to.”

With Lock keeping pace, she ignored the traitorous liquidity of her knees and made her way across the grass. It took all her focus to maintain her balance on the uneven ground.

“The blood’s drained out of your face,” Lock said when they reached the pavement. “Trust me, shock is nothing to take lightly.”

As a nurse, Erica knew he was right—and wrong. “This isn’t shock. I haven’t suffered an injury or blood loss, and my organs are in no danger of failing. It’s a reaction to a surge of adrenaline, and I suppose an emotional response, as well.”

Lock quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t have a lot of respect for emotional responses, do you?”

“Do
you?
” she retorted, and dug into her pocket for her keys.

He blinked, which she was learning indicated she’d struck a nerve. “I’m a guy.”

“Feelings aren’t important to men?”

“I keep a tight lid on them. I’m not saying that’s healthy, just that it’s normal.” He leaned against her car.

“As compared to women, who get the vapors and swoon into the nearest pair of male arms?” Pointless or not, the argument helped restore her sense of control.

“I’m game to do it again if you are.” The man had a heart-stopping smile. She had to tear her gaze away.

There was only one other vehicle in the lot, a gray coupe with the lines of a sports car, Erica saw as she open the locks with a beep. Somehow she’d expected him to drive a jacked-up pickup. But as a detective, he was wise to keep his wheels inconspicuous. “I’ve done all the swooning I care to for one day. Have a nice evening, Detective.”

“I should follow you home.”

Great gimmick, Erica mused as she got into her car. Then he’d know where she lived, if he hadn’t figured that out already. “No, thanks.”

He stepped back. Erica angled the key toward the ignition. To her annoyance, it took three tries to insert it.
Keep your brain on track.

She sat holding the steering wheel and willing herself to turn on the engine. Put the car in gear and drive to her apartment.

Her limbs refused to obey.

Lock tapped on the window. Erica wanted to ignore him, but common sense prevailed. Grimly, she pulled out the key, retrieved her purse and opened the door. “I guess I do need a ride.”

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning and bring you back here.”

“I can call a cab.” She was being ungracious, Erica knew, so she added, “Thank you for the offer. I’m not usually like this.”

“I didn’t expect you were.”

They crossed the lot to his coupe. He held her elbow, steadying her. “Ever been in a bad accident?” he asked. “What’s happening with you seems like a flashback.”

“Yes.” Might as well tell him. “Ten years ago, my brother was killed.”

“I’m sorry.” When she was safely inside, he closed the door and came around.

The car’s scent suited him, Erica thought, inhaling a trace of leather and a hint of coffee from a take-out cup sitting in a holder. The lines were sporty, with the latest high-tech devices in the dash.

Nothing like Jordan’s old car when he’d rattled to the curb in front of her nursing school ten years ago, grinning in a slightly loopy way as he peered out the window. “Hey, you think I’d let my kid sister ride the subway on her twenty-first birthday?” he’d called.

Erica had had to move classified ads and a number of job applications off the passenger seat before she sat down. On the floor, a take-out sack had rustled and released the odor of stale French fries. There’d been another scent in the air, too, the scent of marijuana. But she hadn’t noticed that until after her brother gunned the engine and jerked into traffic, nearly clipping the shuttle bus she usually rode....

“What’s going on?” Lock’s voice brought her back to the present. They were rolling past the library.

“Remembering things I’d rather forget,” Erica said. “Do you need directions to my apartment or do you already know where it is?”

Again, that telltale blink. “I could use directions.”

She leaned back in the seat. “Go straight.”

“Okay. Hungry?” he asked.

“It is dinnertime.” Erica hoped he couldn’t hear the rumblings from her stomach. The fruit plate, even finished off with a slice of cake, hadn’t lasted long.

Lock paused at a stop sign. “Left, right or straight up?”

“This car flies?”

“I keep hoping, with all these gadgets.”

“Left.” Erica had another question. “Do you carry a gun?” She’d seen enough gunshot wounds to be leery of weapons.

He eased left. “Not since I handed in my badge. Now that you know what a harmless creature I am, I assume you’ll let me cook dinner.”

“Pushy.” Erica had to laugh. She was feeling more comfortable, and for once she had no desire to return to an empty apartment. “I don’t have much food on hand. Enough to rustle up something, I guess.”

“Done.” Lock turned into her complex. Apparently he didn’t need any further directions.

Erica decided not to worry about that.

S
URVIVING
AN
ACCIDENT
that killed her brother couldn’t help but leave a lasting psychic wound. No wonder Erica had reacted so strongly to the near miss with the SUV.

As he escorted her up the exterior staircase to her apartment, Lock didn’t miss the shakiness in her movements. He admired her determined effort to ignore it.

On the upper walkway, waiting as Erica pulled out her key, he supposed he’d overstepped by insisting on making dinner for her. How would he explain this if Mike found out?

Still, Lock couldn’t leave until he was certain she’d recovered enough to manage on her own. A hot meal ought to help. He owed her that much for invading her privacy in the first place. And he wanted the satisfaction of knowing she no longer ranked him as a creep.

As for his earlier impression that they had connected on some spiritual level, in retrospect it seemed misguided. They might share a cynical attitude about relationships with the opposite sex, but as the door opened on a cozy apartment stuffed with cushy furniture, Tiffany-style lamps and framed photographs of butterflies, Lock had to admit the resemblance didn’t extend to decorating choices. The only thing he’d stuck on his bedroom wall was a dartboard, and if the house he and Mike rented hadn’t come furnished, he’d be sleeping on an inflatable mattress.

“Nice stuff,” he said, following her inside. She’d made the most of the modest living room, tucking a round table into one corner and filling part of a wall with an antique-style mirror that made the place look bigger.

“I’m the queen of thrift store shopping,” Erica informed him as she untied her shoes. Lock set his next to hers on a small mat and tossed his jacket over the back of a chair.

On the counter that divided the living room from the compact kitchen, he caught sight of a cake box. “By the way, happy birthday.”

She regarded him suspiciously. “How did you know it’s my birthday?”

Oops.
“I just assumed that was a birthday cake.” But with the lid shut, there was no way he could have known.

“Don’t lie to me. I hate that.” Erica folded her arms. The movement pushed her breasts into prominence, as if Lock hadn’t been keenly aware of them already. “You’ve been snooping.”

No sense hiding a fact that was sure to surface sooner or later. “I work with someone you know. Patty Denny.”

She took a moment to place the name. “Oh. Alec’s wife. Why didn’t you say so?”

“I’m in the habit of keeping things to myself.” When this explanation failed to soften her expression, he added, “You can ask Patty all about me, if you’re curious.” Still, Lock hoped she wouldn’t, because that was likely to lead to Mike finding out that he’d visited Erica’s apartment.

He should leave. And would, as soon as they ate.

In the kitchen, Erica opened a cabinet. “I’ve got pasta and tomato sauce. Or we could send out for pizza.”

“It’s your birthday. You deserve a home-cooked meal.” Lock nearly added,
“And you eat way too much fast food.”
Instead, he peered into the refrigerator. “Cream cheese and white wine. I can do something with that.”

At his request, Erica took out cooking oil and salt. As she handed them to him, her smooth fingers crossed his roughened ones, setting off a spark of electricity.