SH Medical 07 - The Detective's Accidental Baby (4 page)

She gave a little jump. “Ow.”

“Didn’t really hurt.”

“It startled me.” As he reached past her, she backed out of range. Still nervous or unusually self-protective. Or both.

“Where are your cooking pots?” Lock asked.

“In here somewhere. Help yourself.”

As she moved aside, he began opening cabinets, and discovered a wealth of high quality pots and pans that gleamed like new. “You can’t tell me you bought these at a thrift store.”

“Wedding presents,” she said. “My friends greatly overestimated my interest in cooking.”

He ran water into a large pot for pasta. “Your ex-husband wasn’t domestic, I gather.”

“That depends on your definition of domestic. He had a great appreciation for beds. Unfortunately, most of them belonged to other women,” Erica said.

“You’ve skewered him with a clean thrust. Neatly done.” After setting the water to boil, Lock checked the fridge again. The freezer yielded a bag of broccoli and cauliflower, which he put into another pot. While he might exist mostly on chips and takeout himself, Lock enjoyed cooking on occasion. And he considered this an occasion.

“You could use the microwave,” Erica said from the corner where she’d retreated.

“Microwaved vegetables turn out rubbery,” he retorted.

“Aren’t they supposed to be rubbery?”

“Not on my watch.” Lock located chicken broth, nutmeg, cayenne and flour for thickening. He could combine these with the cream cheese and wine to make a light version of Alfredo sauce.

Erica slid by him, her soft curves brushing Lock’s side, and circled the far end of the counter. Even though she’d barely touched him, his body hardened instinctively. Thank goodness he was turned away.

“You ever been married?” She slid onto one of the stools and sat watching him.

“Never came close.” He knew himself too well to allow a relationship to pass the point of no return. “Had a few girlfriends, but they were smart enough to figure out I’m basically a loner.”
And if they didn’t, I was out the door before they could spring the trap.

“Then you’ll appreciate that I am, too,” Erica said.

He dismissed as condescending the glib response that popped up, that she was too pretty to be a loner. Erica deserved better. “Guess that gives us something in common.”

“Aside from jogging and knowing Patty Denny.”

“And living in Safe Harbor, California.”

“Wow, we must be twins separated at birth,” she said.

“No doubt.” Despite the light exchange, it crossed Lock’s mind that if Erica hadn’t come from Boston, her remark might have hit close to the truth. One of the problems with being adopted and knowing nothing about your biological family was that you couldn’t be sure who you were related to.

Someday he ought to finish the inquiries he’d started into the identity of his birth mother. She most likely lived somewhere around here. That prospect had bugged Lock ever since Mike proposed his moving back here and buying a half interest in the agency.

Yet meeting her would mean confronting some very unpleasant issues. And possibly unleashing more anger than he was ready to deal with.

Lock was mixing the flour with the liquids when he remembered another ingredient for his dish. “Got Parmesan?”

“Up there.” Erica pointed to a cupboard on his right.

“I was hoping for fresh,” he admitted as he fetched it.

“Picky, picky.”

“Most women admire my taste.”

“Most women obviously let you get away with far too much.” With lips parted, Erica awaited his response. Her mouth would fit beautifully against his, Lock noted. If he leaned across the counter, she might tense for a moment, but then…

Cut that out.

“Plates?” he asked, and answered his own question by opening another cupboard. While the matched service for four might also have come from her wedding, a few chips testified that it had seen plenty of use. “Butterflies. Do I sense a theme?”

“They’ve always appealed to me. I’m not sure why.” From a drawer on her side of the counter, Erica produced silverware and paper napkins. “I suppose I should have outgrown them, now that I’m thirty-one.”

“Such an advanced age,” Lock murmured.

“I keep hoping I’ve at least matured enough not to make any more stupid choices, like marrying my ex.”

“I wish I could say I haven’t made any stupid mistakes since I turned thirty-one, or thirty-five, for that matter.” Setting down the plates, Lock stirred the spaghetti into boiling water.

“Any tips on aging gracefully?” Erica teased.

“Don’t pick up girls in parks. But then, who wants to age gracefully?”

She laughed. “It’s a good thing I don’t want kids, or I suppose I’d be hearing the tick-tick-tick of my biological clock.”

“Most women seem to.” He’d always shied away from women who expressed a desire to become mothers. Then last summer in Flagstaff he’d enjoyed coaching a softball team of underprivileged kids, many of whom lacked fathers. Lock supposed that someday he might enjoy the parenting experience. Not anytime soon, though.

“Spare me.” Erica made a face. “I’ll leave the baby making to my patients, thank you.”

“I didn’t mean while you’re single,” he said. “That would be tough.”

She tossed back her hair. There was none of that self-conscious fluffing of her locks as he’d seen some women do, just a natural way of moving that kept him aware of her femininity. “Raising a child is totally demanding. Your life isn’t your own anymore. Plus they cost a fortune, and you have to worry about them every minute. I’m just too selfish. Does that turn you off?”

“Does what?”

“My not wanting kids.”

Lock had always assumed that if he did marry and have children, their mother would provide the main day-to-day supervision. He’d never considered how that might feel from her perspective.

“Nope.” He stirred the drained pasta into the white sauce, relishing the scents of nutmeg, Parmesan and cream cheese. “Nothing about you turns me off.”

Erica looked pleased. While he knew better than to assume that meant an open invitation, Lock was enjoying the undercurrents. The tantalizing buzz. The stirrings that might lead to…

He’d better hightail it out of here as soon as they finished eating, he thought as he carried their plates of pasta and vegetables to the small table.

Erica poured white wine into stemmed glasses. “Thank you,” she said. “This is lovely.”

“You’re welcome.” Lock eased into a dark wood chair and stretched his legs until his sock-clad feet touched hers. The cozy contact sent a wave of pleasure simmering up his body.

Dangerous territory.

“Put your arm out,” she commanded.

“Beg pardon?”

“A toast isn’t a toast unless you link arms.”

“You’re right.” They leaned toward each other and linked arms. This close, her soft breath tickled his neck.

Erica raised her glass. “To picking up girls in parks.”

“Especially on their birthday.” Lock’s cheek nearly touched hers as he bent to take a sip. Her nearness gave him such a heady sensation, the wine might as well have been whiskey.

“Delicious.” Her eyes took on intriguing green depths beneath starry brown flecks.

Abruptly, a loud rumble vibrated through the room. With his free hand, Lock gripped the table to steady it. He’d grown up in Southern California and took quakes, if that’s what this was, in stride.

Erica jerked away, spilling wine on the table and tipping her chair. She barely avoided going over backward.

“I…” Her pupils dilated, and when he reached over and caught her wrist, it felt cold beneath his touch. From outside, he heard another rumble, followed by several thumps. Someone must be wheeling a heavy piece of furniture down the staircase.

“It isn’t a quake,” Lock said. “Just one of your neighbors.”

Erica didn’t seem to hear. She’d gone ashen, and her breath was coming fast. The trauma from that accident ten years ago not only hadn’t faded, it had festered. In that moment he resolved not to leave until he made sure she was all right—no matter how long it took. Or how great the danger to his self-control.

Chapter Four

Erica couldn’t stop shaking, and all because of someone moving furniture. But even though she came up with a rationale that should have reassured her—
your blood sugar’s dropped for lack of food
—the terror seized her again.

Pounding pulse. Numb fingers. A sense of impending doom. If this had happened to another woman, she’d have summoned the paramedics to treat a possible heart attack. But in her case, the symptoms added up to something quite different.

Lock lifted her from the chair and carried her to the sofa. “You’re having a panic attack.”

“I…know.” Erica’s teeth chattered as he sank down with her on his lap, enclosed in his arms. Leaning against him, she let the steady thrum of his heart calm her. “This is embarrassing.”

“You said the accident happened ten years ago. Was that on your birthday?” His fingers stroked her hair.

She nodded.

“Ever talk to anyone about it?” he asked.

“The police. When it happened.” The shakes intensified at the memory of sitting in the hospital corridor, talking to a uniformed officer. He’d been cool, professional and remote as he took her statement. The air had felt as cold as the February chill outside. Physically, Erica had suffered only bruises and cuts. Inside, she’d been plunged into icy darkness.

Jordan was dead. He’d died shielding her.

“What about afterward?” There was a slight rasp to Lock’s voice. “Did you get counseling?”

“My family dealt with problems on our own.” But they hadn’t really dealt with anything. Had never dealt with Jordan’s drug use, and after his death had simply retreated into their shells.

“Tell me what happened.”

Around Erica, the shadows lengthened. She swallowed hard.

“Let it out.” Lock wasn’t asking; he was ordering. Somehow, that helped.

She concentrated on the circle of light from a table lamp and the warmth of Lock’s body. “Jordan picked me up at nursing school to take me to dinner for my birthday. It wasn’t till he nearly hit a shuttle bus that I realized he was high.”

“Your brother had a drug problem?”

“He started experimenting in college.” An image of Jordan’s dancing eyes and quick laugh flashed into her mind. He’d had a gift for winning hearts, including his kid sister’s. “He smoked marijuana. A lot.”

“No hard stuff?” Lock asked.

“Not as far as I know.”

“How did your parents respond?” he probed.

“They argued. With him and with each other.” Their mother had insisted that she’d tried pot in college, too, and she’d turned out okay. Their father, a trust attorney, had pointed out that marijuana was illegal, and had become more potent since those days.

They hadn’t insisted on treatment or acknowledged that their son’s life was careening off course, even when he dropped out of graduate school and gave up his dream of becoming a research biologist.
He’ll outgrow this phase. Once he gets a job, a girlfriend, a goal in life, he’ll be fine.
How many times had Erica heard those excuses?

“You said he hit a bus?” Lock prompted.

“No. He missed it.” She had suggested pulling over, but her brother kept driving. “Jordan started weaving in and out of traffic, and I could smell marijuana. When he ran a red light, I thought we’d get stopped, but no such luck.”

“Go on.”

There’d been a couple of near misses, corners taken with a screech of brakes, angry shouts and gestures from other drivers. “We were coming up on an intersection when the light turned red. He stomped on the gas pedal and laughed like it was a great joke. The next thing I knew, we were spinning around and he threw himself over me.”

“You weren’t wearing seat belts?” Lock asked.

“I was, but not Jordan, and the air bags didn’t inflate. I think he’d set them off before and never fixed them.”

“And then?”

“He whispered, ‘Live well.’ That’s the last thing he ever said.” Tears coursed down her cheeks.

“What about the people in the other car?”

She’d always been grateful that the crash hadn’t claimed anyone else. “We hit a panel truck. The driver had a few contusions, that’s all.”

Lock rocked her gently. “How long were you trapped in the car with your brother on top of you?”

“I’m not sure.” She’d either blacked out or erased that memory. “It couldn’t have been long.”

“Did you have nightmares?”

“Yes. I still do.” She wiped her tears on the sleeve of her jogging suit. “He wouldn’t have been there if it weren’t for my birthday.”

Lock’s arms tightened around her. “You honestly think you’re even a little bit to blame?”

“At one level, no.” Erica had told herself that, many times. “But my father said…”

“Your father said what?” Lock demanded after she stopped.

She’d overheard the angry remark at the hospital. “Dad told Mom I should have noticed Jordan wasn’t fit to drive.”

“What did he expect you to do about it?” Lock muttered.

“Stop him.” To Erica, her voice sounded small, like a child’s. Sometimes she felt that way when she thought about her big brother.

“Seems like your parents were part of the problem.”

“They didn’t encourage Jordan to use drugs,” she pointed out.

“But they failed to hold him responsible for his actions. How dare your father even hint that you were at fault!” Lock said in an offended tone. “That’s typical of an enabler.”

Erica wondered if he was speaking from experience. “This sounds personal.”

He rested his forehead against her temple, as if he could merge their thoughts. “My adoptive parents were drug users. They always found someone else to blame for their problems. And you know where they learned to do that? From their own parents.”

“Your grandparents used drugs, too?”

“My mother’s mother abused alcohol. And she refused to hear any criticism of her precious daughter.” His chest rose and fell heavily. “She had the nerve to say that the responsibility of raising a child put too much stress on her poor little girl. That was when I was eight, right before the police hauled my mom off to jail and sent me to foster care. By then, my dad was long gone.”

“Did your grandmother try to take you in?”

“As far as I know, she never offered.” Lock blew out a long breath. “It infuriates me that you’ve carried a burden of guilt about your brother.”

“What about you?” Erica said. “You must be carrying a burden, too. Why else would you still be so angry?”

He drew his head back a few inches. “That’s a conversation for another time. This is your turn to get sympathy.”

Lock couldn’t fool her. He was avoiding the subject because of the pain. “That bad, huh?” She kissed his cheek.

“Worse.” He tried to toss off the word with a smile, but his voice caught.

“I understand that darkness. It becomes a part of you.” Erica had never shared this before with anyone. “Some people think that if you focus on positive thoughts, you can banish the pain. You might bury it for a while, but it hangs on.”

“I got some therapy four years later, after I found the right foster family,” Lock said raggedly. “It helped, to a point.”

She ran her hand over the emerging bristle on his jaw. “I’m tired of dwelling on the past. I want to feel alive, right now.”

He raised her palm to his lips. “Well, if it helps, I’m definitely starting to feel alive.”

Erica was, too, in places that hadn’t stirred since her husband’s betrayal. Now her hunger grew as, beneath her, Lock’s body stiffened against her sensitive core. His mouth covered hers, parting her lips with heated urgency.

Her breast pressed against his chest, the excitement buoying Erica. Eagerly, she unfastened his shirt and stroked his muscular chest. Deft hands lifted her jersey and sports bra over her head.

“Smooth move,” she was saying when his lips found a nipple, drawing a startled gasp and sending desire arrowing through her. Her back arched in invitation.

Lock shifted her off his lap and onto her side, then stretched out beside her. “You like smooth moves, do you?”

“I love them,” Erica said breathlessly, and reached to unbuckle his belt.

“You’ve got a few yourself.” Eyes half-closed, he lifted his body and poised above her while she freed him from his fastenings. His arousal was glorious to look at. Erica’s center turned liquid, and when he stripped away her pants and undergarments, she was ready for him, feeling as if the sun had come out, thawing the fertile earth after a cold winter.

“Whoa. Not planning to be a mommy, remember?” He sat back, found his wallet and extracted a condom.

Erica couldn’t believe she’d overlooked protection. She’d almost forgotten what it was like to sleep with a man who wasn’t her husband. During her marriage she’d been on the pill, and hadn’t been with anyone since then.

She helped stretch the condom over his shaft. “You’re one beautiful guy.”

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Lock teased.

“Prove it,” Erica returned.

“With pleasure.”

She fell back, unable to think of anything but Lock as he caressed and parted her thighs. When his hardness slid inside, strength flowed from him into her. They merged into a river, sweeping away branches and rocks, old obstacles, old fears. Erica had always held a part of herself in reserve with men, even her husband, but not now. Not with Lock.

His rhythm intensified, sending waves of pleasure through her. She had never imagined she was capable of such abandon. Above her, he pumped faster, wildly, until with a cry he exploded inside her. His final thrusts fused them in a moment of pure ecstasy.

Warmth enveloped Erica as he eased down onto the couch and they nestled side by side. If not for a grumbling reminder from her stomach that she needed to eat, she’d have preferred never to move again.

Reluctantly, she nudged him. “Time to get up.”

“Do we have to?” Lock asked playfully.

“I’m hungry.”

“Already?”

“Not that way. Dibs on the bathroom.” Erica wriggled free of their entanglement.

“Is this the thanks I get?” Lock batted lazy blue eyes at her.

“I won’t be long.” Off she went, contentment enveloping her.

Tomorrow, there would be loose ends and ramifications to tidy up. With relationships, there always were. Tonight, she had no intention of thinking about any of that.

H
E
OUGHT
TO
FEEL
GUILTY
,
or at least worried, Lock mused as he lay bathed in the afterglow. He’d kept an important secret from Erica, and he’d probably violated private-detective ethics, although he’d already turned in his report. Now, if this had happened at their first meeting…well, that
would
have presented a conflict.

No sense dwelling on what hadn’t occurred. He was much too happy about what had.

The connection he’d sensed hadn’t been an illusion, after all. He’d felt it even more strongly while they made love. Something about her resonated with him, as if they’d been singing the same song all their lives and just discovered how well they blended.

He wanted more of that. How much more remained to be discovered. While Lock was basically a loner, Erica didn’t give off any desperate-to-tie-him-down vibes. They suited each other. He could picture more lovemaking and fun times ahead without the pressure of her wanting a commitment or a family. What more could a guy ask?

The click of the bathroom door opening reminded him that he ought to be stirring. He reached to remove the condom.

Something was wrong. He stared down in dismay.

It had torn. Damn.

Most likely it meant nothing. What were the odds? Lock had taken a few chances in his romantic past, and to his knowledge none had resulted in children. But as he grabbed his clothes and ducked past Erica, he had to admit his rosy scenario of a few minutes ago might be facing a snag.

A big one.