by Jaycee Clark
“What happened to her? Was she raped?” Kaitlyn asked from behind them.
Jock’s face hardened, and in that instant she again saw where Ian got it. That hard, unforgiving expression.
“As far as we could tell, no. Thank God. Evidence from the house did show she’d been filmed in a new batch that thankfully never made it to the market.”
“Poor, poor little girl,” Kaitlyn said, sniffing. The kettle moaned then whistled. She slammed it down. “Bastards should be shot.”
Instead of answering that they would be, she merely took another drink of her juice. The look in Jock’s eyes said he knew what she wasn’t saying.
Taking a deep breath, she decided to tell them all of it, at least as far as Darya was concerned. “There’s more.”
“More?” Jock asked. “What could be more?”
They didn’t have a clue. “Her sister was brutally raped and murdered.”
“Oh, God.”
“Darya witnessed it, and when she ran, they tried to catch her.”
Kaitlyn, her hand to her mouth, sat down hard in the chair, her eyes sparkling with tears. “Why?”
Rori shook her head. “There are some very evil people in this world, Mrs. Kinncaid. Darya was lucky she could run and hide. God only knows what they would have done with her.” Though she had altogether too good an idea after seeing the room, the video, her own bloody memories.
Jock cleared his throat. “How old was her sister?”
Rori shrugged. “We have no idea. Probably thirteen is our best guess.”
A tear slid down Kaitlyn’s cheek. “I just can’t fathom. I just . . .” She shook her head and stood up, pulling her hand from her husband’s.
“So when we found her in the linen cupboard, that would be why,” Rori said.
Kaitlyn slammed the cups down on the counter. Then she turned to Jock. “Well, Ian might not be home, but by God, that little girl is going to have some fun. Tomorrow we’re going shopping.”
Rori didn’t think that was a very good idea. “Mrs. Kinncaid, with all due respect, I understand where you’re coming from, but I really think it would be best if . . .”
She swung back to Rori. “I’m going and that’s final. You and a contingent of guards can either come with us or stay here. But I’m taking my newest granddaughter shopping for clothes and toys. Period.” Kaitlyn turned back to the cups.
Jock leaned over and patted Rori’s hand. “It’s no use arguing, trust me.”
“Mrs. Kinncaid, it’s simply easier to keep an eye on you here and it’s not safe for Darya.”
Kaitlyn whirled. “I want to show her, that . . . that . . .” Tears tracked down her face. Jock started to get up, but she waved him down and carried the tray over to the table.
She sat at the table and wiped her eyes. “Jock, I want to redo her room next week.” Then she pierced Rori with a look. “And you will all still be here.”
Rori’s lips twitched. “Yes, ma’am. But about tomorrow. I won’t allow you to put her in danger. Darya’s safety is my first priority. When it’s safer, you can take her to Schwarz if you want.”
She looked like she was about to argue, but Jock put his hands on hers and squeezed.
• • •
Jock squeezed his wife’s hands and tried to let her know it would be all right.
Christ, his blood was boiling. If not for all his meds, he knew his blood pressure would be skyrocketing.
Rori stood, tossed her bottle into the glass bin and grabbed her water. “I should get back upstairs. I don’t want to leave her too long.”
Kaitie nodded. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry for going on so.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes again. “Makes me so furious!”
“Well, Ian might not be happy I told you, but I figured you had a right to know what’s going on with your granddaughter.”
“Damn straight,” Jock said, nodding.
She smiled at him. “Good night, then.”
The phone shrilled and they all froze. He reached over and grabbed it just as it rang a second time.
“Hello?” His heart slammed in his chest. One a.m. phone calls were never a good sign.
“Dad?” Gavin asked.
He sighed, then straightened. “What? What’s wrong? Is it Taylor? The baby? Ryan?”
Gavin laughed. “Taylor’s in labor and we’re on the way to the hospital. I just wanted to call and let you know.”
He smiled and nodded. “Thanks. I’ll let your mother know.”
“Well, it’s early yet and I’ve had her walking for several hours. Maybe you could stop by in the morning?”
Jock nodded. “All right. I’ll let her know so she doesn’t demand we come over there right now.”
Gavin chuckled and Jock remembered that feeling of giddiness, of nervousness—the overall excitement of looming fatherhood.
“How’s it feel to be on this side?” he asked his son.
“Different,” Gavin answered.
Jock laughed. “Keep us updated or we’ll be there as soon as we can.”
“I know,” Gavin said.
Jock heard the mumble of Taylor’s voice in the background as he hung the phone up.
Kaitlyn was watching him. “Taylor?”
He nodded. “Gavin said to wait until the morning to go to the hospital.”
He looked to the door and saw the slight disappointment shift across Rori’s face. “I’m off to bed, then.”
“Good night,” he and Kaitie said at the same time.
They listened to her soft footfalls down the hallway. For a moment neither said a word, then Kaitlyn propped her chin in her hand and looked at him. “I like Rori.”
He grinned. “I know, so do I.”
Her russet brows furrowed. “I think she understands Ian.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t. I don’t know that man. Sometimes I glimpse our son, but . . .”
He brushed a strand of hair back from her face. “Time.” He half expected her to still be angry at him, but she only looked at him.
“He found that child in hell, Jock. And I’ve heard Ryan and Tori talking. John was in Colorado. I know Ian sent him and I’m still so furious with Aiden for never saying a word. Not a single word in all this time.” She took a deep breath and he stroked his thumb across the back of her hand.
“Kaitie. Time.”
She nodded. “I know. I know.” She grinned and that dimple he’d always loved winked at him. “I still want them to stay here.” She sipped her tea. “No one’s bought the Cooley place, have they? Maybe Ian would be interested in purchasing—”
“Kaitie, what did you just tell me this morning?”
She ignored him and sipped more tea.
He shared a smile with her.
“I want to get to know our granddaughter,” she admitted.
“And our son?”
“And his wife.”
Their grins grew. “I have a feeling Ian knows the Cooley place and I seriously doubt he’d want it.”
Kaitie chewed on the inside of her bottom lip. “Maybe not. But the entire family knows what a great child’s psychologist Dr. Petropolis is.”
He chuckled. “Kaitie, you’re hopeless.”
“I know, and you still love me.”
He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “That I most definitely do.”
Chapter 27
November 19, 1:04 p.m.
Rori looked at the silent child, who still hadn’t eaten since Ian had left two days ago. She still hadn’t heard from him and she didn’t want to worry.
She hated to worry.
The little girl was pale, but her eyes seemed overly bright.
“All right, Poppet?” She reached her hand out and felt the girl.
Darya was hot. Rori cupped her face in both her hands and Darya looked at her miserably.
“Oh, baby. You don’t feel well, do you?”
No one was in the house. Roth had taken the Kinncaids to the hospital, where Taylor was
still in labor. Rori had the fleeting thought that perhaps not being able to have children had some strong points—mainly avoiding hours upon hours of labor.
She picked Darya up and walked down the hallway with her. They had been in the living room, Darya playing with the blocks Ian had bought her, glancing out the window every few seconds. When she’d stopped playing, it drew Rori’s attention. For Darya to be quiet was one thing, but she’d become withdrawn since Ian’s departure and Rori so wanted to be able to communicate with the girl. No one had apparently thought of that fact. But they had gotten along well enough until now with only a couple of glitches. The nightmares and the fact she wouldn’t eat. To get her to drink something, they gave her bright colored glasses with swirling straws—Mr. Kinncaid’s idea.
But this . . . she was hot.
Fear thrummed through her. Probably just a fever. But what if it wasn’t? What the hell was she to bloody do?
Becky was still here.
Rori carried Darya down the hallway and into the kitchen. The little girl put her head on Rori’s shoulder, her arm slung over Rori’s back. Becky was humming and rolling something on the center block.
“Becky?” she asked.
Becky turned and smiled. “Lonely, are you? Don’t worry, they’ll call. You should have gone to the hospital with them.” Her grin grew. “Babies are such a joy.”
“Becky,” she said, walking up to the woman. “I think she’s sick.”
Becky’s round face frowned. “What?” She wiped her floured hands on a dish towel.
“She feels warm to me.”
Becky put her hand on Darya’s face, then her arm, and shook her head. “No wonder. Child won’t eat, doesn’t sleep, she’s bound to get sick sooner or later.”
The panic fluttered anew. What did she bleeding know about sick kids. “Becky? What do I do?”
Becky’s face softened. “Just hold her. I’ll call Mrs. K. and see what we have to give her.”
Rori pulled back and studied Darya. “Do you think we should take her to the doctor or something?”
Becky chuckled. “Oh, new parents.” She patted Rori’s arm. “You just go put her up in her bed and sit with her. I’ll bring up some soup. Main thing is to keep liquids down her.”
She nodded. “Anything else?”
Becky’s smile was tender. “Just mother her, luv, like ye’ve been doing.”
Rori turned and walked out of the kitchen. Well, she knew the girl had a fever, but what to do about it was another matter. Becky acted as if it was nothing out of the ordinary, but still . . .
She turned back and walked into the kitchen again. “Becky.”
“Yes?”
“Mrs. Kinncaid was a doctor, wasn’t she?”
“Yes. Doctored little ones, she did, still does from time to time.”
“So she’ll know what to do?”
Becky frowned. “We should take her temperature. Mrs. K. has one of the computer kind around here somewhere.” She opened a drawer, then closed it, muttering. Next she checked the cabinet next to the sink. Aspirin, bandages, first aid supplies. “Ah, here it is, then.” Becky pulled out a box with a coiled wire and thermometer on the end. She slid a plastic cover down over the thermometer and motioned Rori over.
Rori set Darya on the counter. The little girl blinked slowly. “Ian’s going to be bloody furious,” she muttered.
Becky humphed and picked Darya’s arm up, sliding the thermometer under her arm. Five seconds and several beeps later, she said, “One-oh-two point three.” She frowned at Darya and said to Rori, “Put her to bed and I’ll call Mrs. K.”
So relieved that something was being done, she leaned over and pressed a kiss to Becky’s cheek. “Thank you so much.”
She carried Darya out of the kitchen and upstairs. She opened Darya’s door, the room cool to her. Maybe she should build up the fire. She sat her on the edge of the bed and undressed her, tossing her jeans and sweater to the side and putting some flannel pajamas on the girl. She at least knew enough to keep the girl warm.
She pulled the covers back and tucked Darya in. The entire time, the girl only stared, her hand clutching the photograph. She pulled the ragged teddy bear to her and lay down, her eyes closing.
“Please don’t let her have any nightmares,” Rori whispered, brushing the hair off Darya’s forehead.
Maybe a cool cloth would be the thing to do. She hurried to the bathroom and wet a washcloth. Sitting on the bed, she put the folded linen on the girl, who opened her eyes and stared for a moment before closing them again.
God, what if they’d been wrong? What if she had been sexually molested or some such and had come down with something? It could be anything.
Rori chewed on her thumbnail and a memory flashed through her brain. Nikko nursing her after he’d rescued her from that hell of an apartment. They hadn’t gone to his apartment on the same floor. Instead he’d taken her to a house, and then when she’d been better, they’d moved quite often until settling in Italy.
Nikko. God, her brain wasn’t working.
“I’ll be right back,” she told Darya and hurried from the room into her and Ian’s. There she grabbed her mobile, which she’d plugged in last night so it would charge.
She started to punch his number, but Becky came huffing up the stairs. “Mrs. K. said to give the poor dear a teaspoon of this, and in a few hours give her this other one.” She held up two bottles of children’s versions of pain and fever relief. “And we’re to take her temperature every half an hour to make certain it’s going down, and Mrs. K. said she’d be calling to check up on things.”
Rori took the bottles and thermometer from Becky and said, “Thank you, Becky.”
“Go give her the medicine. I’m going to put some chicken stock on for soup so perhaps she might eat something tonight.”
“I hope she will.” With that, she turned and walked back into Darya’s room. The girl hadn’t moved. Rori looked from one bottle to the other. Which one did she give first? Did it matter? Setting her phone down, she jogged out of the room and down the staircase, catching up with Becky in the hallway.
“Which do I give her first? You didn’t bloody say.”
Becky shook her head and muttered something. “Doesn’t matter. Pink or purple, you choose.”
That’s it? She hurried back upstairs and measured out some of the pink bubble-gum-flavored fever reducer. Picking the girl up, she coaxed her to drink it all down.
Darya licked her lips, and lay back, staring at her picture.
She looked so lost.
Rori took the wet cool cloth and wiped Darya’s face. “He’ll be back.”
Darya stared at the photo until her eyes slid closed.
Rori reached over on the nightstand, stood, and walked to the window ledge. Hitting the preprogrammed number, she waited for the phone on the other end to ring.
“It’s about damn time you called. What the hell is going on?”
“Hello to you too, Nikko.”
“Cara,” his voice warned. She caught the worry in it.
“How do you take care of a sick kid?”
For a minute he was silent and then he chuckled. “Oh, the things I miss!”
“Nikko, it’s not bloody funny! She’s sick, has a fever, and I haven’t heard from Ian—have no bleeding clue where he is and she’s running a fever. I gave her some bubble-gum fever reducer medicine,” she rattled off, biting on her thumbnail.
“Cara, calm down.”
She took a deep breath and watched the girl sleep on the bed.
“You haven’t been sleeping,” he commented.
“How do you know?”
“I know you. You ramble when you’re tired. Why no sleep?”
She sighed. “Ian’s been gone tying up some loose ends. Darya hasn’t eaten or slept really since he’s been gone. Not a bite in two days and nightmares every night.” She ran a hand over her hair.
“It’ll be fine. You were sick when you first came to live wi
th me.”
“What did you do?”
“Took care of you, same as you will do for little Darya.”
Rori thought about how Nikko had a way of cutting through everything else. She sighed. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore, Nikko,” she admitted.
“How so, cara?”
She sat on the windowsill and thought about it. “This . . . this job is all fucked to hell.”
He laughed.
“I don’t find anything amusing.”
“You know, I am as proud as any parent can be of their child. But do you know what I have always wanted, always prayed for you?”
“You pray?”
“I’ve returned to the flock. My priest is constantly giving me penances.”
“Did you tell him what you’ve done?”
“I don’t have that much time, cara. I’d be saying Hail Marys until I passed onto the next world. It’s better to give it to him in small doses.”
She laughed, trying to picture it.
“You.”
“You,” he answered.
“I miss you, Nikko.”
“I know, cara.” He sighed. “I want you to find happiness . . . peace . . .” He waited. “Does Mr. Kinncaid bring out those things.”
She stared out over the sunlit dead grasses and bare trees. “Ian makes me feel. Period.”
“Then that is a good thing. Now tell me, what loose ends must he tie up?”
“I can’t talk about it.”
Silence, then. “Perhaps you’d be interested to know the streets are alive with talk of Mr. Petrolov and his guard dying in an explosion in Amsterdam.”
She hadn’t known, damn the man. “That was the plan.”
He humphed. “Cara, the man for you is not an average man. One, you are a very strong woman, you need someone who can meet you. And you obviously have feelings for the girl.”
She took a deep breath. “I think I did something stupid, Nikko.”
“You never do anything stupid.”
“I did this time. I signed my name to a marriage document.”
“What?”
“The marriage to Kinncaid . . . it’s um . . . real.”
She expected silence, expected disappointment, even anger. What she didn’t expect was laughter. “You, cara, have brought such joy to my life. Enjoy yours. As I said, you’ve never been stupid and you’ve read documents before.”