Bringing Baby Home

by Debra Salonen

  “How bad?”

  “Anywhere from escaped felon to someone hooked up with WITSEC. That’s what most people call the Witness Protection Program. But I checked and David Baines is not on any list that I could find. Hell, for all I know he’s a dead-beat dad on the lam from child support payments or a mental patient who walked away from the funny farm or a serial killer…”

  Liz’s heart stopped for half a second then she laughed out loud. She couldn’t help herself. She let go of the paper and patted Zeke’s hand. “Zeke, one thing you should have figured out by now about my mother is her ability to read people. She’s had a couple of misses over the years—Kate’s ex-husband, for one—but I guarantee you that she would have picked up on anything that awful about David.”

  He didn’t say anything, but he did push the note a little closer. “I hope you and Yetta are both right about this guy. But I want you to promise you’ll be careful. David Baines is a mystery, and mysteries don’t always work out the way you want them to.”

  “SCAR, IF YOU DON’T stay out my way, you’re going to end with even more cuts.”

  In a week, the beast had gone from wary to pest. As if he’d made up his mind that David—purveyor of fine fish and kibble—could be trusted. Now the foolish animal wouldn’t leave him alone. A dangerous situation when David was hacking apart boxes with a very sharp blade.

  Whisk. Swish. The box cutter sliced through the cardboard.

  He tossed the excess pieces into a pile he’d later recycle or shred for mulch. He’d been to seven stores in the area earlier that morning to collect boxes after stopping for a quick bite at his favorite deli. For the first couple of years after he’d moved to Vegas, David had made a point never to frequent any particular store, bar or restaurant too regularly. Lately, he’d slipped into patterns that might spell trouble if anyone was looking for him.

  The waitress at the deli knew him by name. A couple of guys in the neighborhood pub had recruited David for their dart league. He was on a nodding basis with a number of store clerks. He’d gotten comfortable.

  So far, that hadn’t been a problem, but this past week he’d started feeling a growing unease. He couldn’t decide whether it was from fear of discovery or dissatisfaction with his life in general. He’d thought about Liz Radonovic a lot. Too much. He hadn’t seen her. Partly because he was no longer working on her street. He’d moved on to a new neighborhood.

  But he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Was she okay? Had she bounced back after her altercation that night? How was she handling contact with her neighbor? He’d called the next day, as promised, but her roommate had told him Liz was asleep. He hadn’t left his name or tried again.

  Cowardly, he knew. Certainly nowhere near as brave as Liz herself. She was a fighter. She didn’t turn tail when faced with a couple of loudmouthed punks. She stood up for what she believed in, what was right. She’d confronted the parents even though she’d known that she would have to live next door to them. He’d also stood up for his principles, but in his case, fleeing had been his only option.

  Or was that a lie he told himself to assuage his ego? He’d asked himself that question a million times over the years. What if I’d stayed? Would the police have been able to protect him during the course of a trial—if they’d been able to find Ray, his former boss and mentor?

  He was haunted by what-ifs. But even the bravest among us have their demons, he reminded himself. He’d caught a glimpse of Liz’s when he’d driven her home that night. Like him, Liz had secrets and she kept them well hidden.

  “Meow.”

  “Scar, has anyone ever told you that you have a really horrible voice? That is the most mangled meow I’ve ever heard.”

  “Meow.” Louder this time.

  David gave a full-body shudder and pocketed his box cutter. “Fine. I’m done with the prep work. I’ll feed you before I start loading up the plants.”

  As he’d told Liz, he had a big order to fill for one of his largest nurseries. The company had recently started an online operation in addition to the local retail store and was planning to feature exotic cacti for an entire month on their Web site. Not only were they buying the plants from David, they’d hired him to write little blurbs about each variety. Not cut-and-dried facts, but the history and/or myths surrounding the plant. Since he didn’t have a computer, he’d had to type each factoid on a recipe card using the manual typewriter he’d found at a thrift shop.

  The cards were stacked on the front seat of his truck. The extra two hundred bucks the store was paying him for the cards would come in handy since a couple of days earlier he’d noticed that one of his caps was loose. He ran his tongue over the tooth in question as he selected a can of cat food.

  “Meow.”

  “Worse than fingernails on a blackboard.”

  He’d just started turning the manual opener when he heard the buzzer that he’d rigged up across his driveway go off. The noise happened so rarely that he reacted unconsciously, dropping the can and grabbing the box cutter from his pocket. Scar yelped and disappeared under the workbench.

  David hurried to the single window of the potting shed, which sat at a right angle to his greenhouse. His cottage was directly across from him. He had no trouble making out the car that pulled to a stop in front of his porch. Liz’s little, dark green Honda SUV.

  His racing heart returned to normal as he let out the breath he’d been holding. He retracted the blade and set down the cutter then brushed off his hands and jeans and walked outside.

  “This is a…surprise,” he said.

  Liz, who had one hand raised to knock on his door, gasped. She turned to follow his voice. “Oh, there you are. I saw your truck by that building back there, but I didn’t want to just wander around looking for you.”

  He watched her walk back down the steps then come toward where he was standing. He’d never seen her quite so polished. Khaki crop pants. A butter-yellow tank top with a vibrant beaded necklace that looked like she might have brought it back from some exotic land. Her same hippie sandals, in black.

  She brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes and smiled. “Sorry to barge in like this. Am I catching you at a bad time?”

  Yes. A bad time in my life. “I have a big order to get out today.”

  “Oh, that’s right. You mentioned that the last time we talked. Um…do you need some help? I’m free until three-thirty. Then I have to meet with a loan officer. I think she’s going to tell me I don’t qualify for my refinancing.”

  She sounded pretty down about that. He’d owned a house once. I wonder what Kay did with it? He’d never changed his wife’s name as sole beneficiary if anything happened to him. She was also executrix of his will.

  “All I have left to do is load up,” he said, starting toward the greenhouse. Maybe if he kept things chilly between them she’d take the hint and leave.

  “I’m stronger than I look.” She followed after him. “And I know how to lift without compromising my lumbar muscles.”

  Her upbeat tone was so cheerful and inviting that David’s immediate inclination was to ask her to stay. But he knew he had to end this—whatever it was—between them before somebody got hurt. He stopped abruptly. Without his sunglasses, the bright desert sun was punishingly bright. “Listen, Liz, I don’t know why you’re here, but…”

  “I owe you.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  She crossed her arms. “I’m not talking money. I don’t have a dime to spare. But you helped me last week and—”

  “I’m not the hero you’re trying to make me out to be.”

  She made a wobbling motion with her hand. “I don’t mean you saved my life, exactly, but the situation might have gotten out of hand if you hadn’t shown up. Plus, you reminded me about post-traumatic stress. This has been a rough week. The incident with the boys dug up a memory of something I thought I’d gotten over.”

  He wasn’t surprised by her admission. He’d seen how vulnerable she’d looked, how
haunted. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not asking for sympathy. I’m feeling better now. But visiting that dark hole reminded me that we never really escape the past. Not completely.”

  He had to work to keep from shivering. Her words sounded ominous.

  She went on. “My sister Kate is a perfect example. I probably mentioned that my family background is Romani. My mother has a gift, and many people trust her to make predictions about their futures. When we were kids, she claimed to see a certain prophecy for each of us girls. Kate’s was something about trying to outrun the past. I can’t remember the exact wording, but when she met her fiancé—about the same time as her ex-husband got out of jail—the prophecy seemed to make sense.”

  “What’s yours?”

  Her gaze dropped to the ground. “Mine’s already happened. Well, the first part of it, anyway.” Her usual animation was replaced by a look of such despondency he almost reached out to comfort her, but she rallied before he could react. “The only reason I mentioned this is because I think things happen for a reason. You and I have a connection. Maybe it’s as simple as you helped me and I’m supposed to help you in return. I don’t know, but I can’t just ignore it.”

  “Maybe you should.” He turned away and resumed walking. He was a scientist. He didn’t believe in preordained fate. But even if he did, what kind of perverse cosmic devil would weave a plot that removed him from a family he loved and dropped him in the desert to fall for a beautiful Gypsy—only to have to leave her, too?

  “I’m not interested in a relationship, Liz,” he said. Blunt and brutal. Not his usual style, but still…this was the way it had to be.

  “Me, either. Lord, if you could see what I have on my plate at the moment, you’d think I was some kind of masochistic freak. But I…um…I did something that might…well, I…”

  He stopped abruptly. He’d never seen her at such a loss for words. “What?”

  “After we met—when you bawled me out for running over your cactus, I called Zeke—the detective who came to my house the other night—and asked him to get me your address.” Her cheeks flushed with color. “I…uh, gave him your license-plate number.”

  David’s stomach turned over.

  “I know that was wrong. Zeke scolded me, but he…well, he did it, anyway.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  She blushed.

  “It was an unforgivable intrusion into your privacy. You intrigued me and I was trying to avoid talking to Crissy—which I ended up doing anyway. Nuts, right? Juvenile. I really am sorry.”

  She seemed as repentant as she was embarrassed. “What did Zeke tell you?”

  “That you have a very good driving record,” she said brightly, then her gaze shifted to some point over his shoulder. “For the four years that you’ve been in Nevada.”

  “And…”

  “And there appeared to be some, um…inconsistencies in your past.”

  Inconsistencies? Of course there were inconsistencies. The real David Baines, grandson of one of his grandmother’s friends, had died at age eleven. David didn’t know why he’d never forgotten the kid’s name, but when he decided to create a new identity, that was the name that popped into his head. Borrowing the dead boy’s social security number, place and date of birth had proven fairly simple to do.

  He couldn’t stifle the curse word that slipped out.

  “I’m sorry, David. I acted impulsively and I shouldn’t have. I treasure my privacy, yet didn’t think twice about invading yours. I really can’t apologize enough.”

  He could tell she was sorry, but there was something else bothering her, too. “What else?”

  She swallowed. “I don’t know if the two things are connected. There’s probably no reason they should be, but we don’t get much crime in our neighborhood, so when my roommate said she saw somebody poking around your truck last week, I got this uneasy feeling in my stomach.” She tried to smile. “Quantum leap, right? But, I mean, who would rob your truck?”

  They both turned to look at the vehicle in question. Primer paint and dents too numerous to count. The beat-up Chevy wouldn’t have interested the most desperate of junkies.

  “Lydia just mentioned the black car this morning. I don’t know if the two things are connected, but like I said, I got a very bad feeling about this when she told me.”

  His instincts told him to run like hell, but he’d learned from the pros. An ill-planned escape was worthless. He remembered one federal agent telling him, “A tracker can read the clues left behind and make it to your next destination before you even decide where you’re going.” He had to cover his tracks, and to do that right, he needed money. Which meant he had to deliver these plants and collect his fee.

  “Probably just an addict looking for something to steal.”

  “Maybe.” She didn’t appear convinced.

  To distract her, he said, “Okay. You can help me load the truck. The sooner I get this order filled, the better.” The sooner I can disappear.

  She lit up with a relieved smile. “Great. I’d be happy to, but could I use your bathroom, first?”

  He’d never taken anyone inside his house. Maybe this would be a good test. If Ray’s goons had found him, they’d be inside his house soon enough. Were there clues he’d overlooked? “My house is kinda hot,” he said, leading the way. “The window unit is in the bedroom and it barely works.”

  “No problem. I’ll be as fast as I can, then I’ll help you load your plants.”

  DAVID HADN’T LIED about his overly warm home, Liz thought a few minutes later. The windows and shades were closed and a ceiling fan was roaring overhead, but the heat—like the tension between them—seemed tangible.

  “You really keep your place neat,” she said.

  “Sloppy men are a stereotype perpetuated by television sitcoms. My grandmother made sure I had my clothes picked up and my bed made every morning before I left for school.”

  He also took off his cap when he entered a room, she noticed. Without his funky cap, she had a good look at his hair and face. It was a nice face. And his blondish brown hair was thick and wavy.

  “You’re right. That was a sexist comment. I’m a bit of a neat freak, but that was the only way to keep my stuff intact around three sisters.”

  They were standing quite close. He smelled like dirt and fresh air and some deodorant with a macho name.

  “The bathroom is over there.”

  His tone was curt. She could tell he was upset about her poking her nose into his driving record. He probably thought she was some kind of kook, too. Why had she blabbed about her mother’s prophecies? She never discussed that sort of thing with outsiders. People rarely believed her so why bother? David had seemed just as skeptical as all the rest. “Thanks. I’ll only be a minute.”

  She headed in the direction he pointed, but paused to glance into the tiny kitchen. An old-fashioned typewriter—the kind she vaguely remembered seeing at her grandparents’ house as a child—occupied one end of a painted wooden table. A half-empty juice glass and rumpled paper napkin sat at the other.

  “I was in a hurry this morning,” he said, scooting past her to carry the glass to the sink. “Do you want a drink of water or anything?”

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  She quickly made use of the facilities. The tiny bathroom was tidier than the one at her house—her roommates weren’t big on neatness—and as impersonal as a motel’s. She washed her hands and returned.

  David was standing by the front window, gazing toward where her car was parked. She used the time to look around his home. Three National Geographic magazines on a low table beside a recliner that was shrouded in a dark blue throw. Mismatched lamps. A lumpy-looking beige-and-rust plaid couch.

  The only clues to the man himself were his plants. Four or five pots with clever arrangements. She walked to a gallon-size pot stuck in a rusted pail. The cactus was one she’d never seen before. Tall, slender arms with hooked barbs. “Cool plant.
”

  “Thanks.”

  “How long have you lived here?”

  “A couple of years.”

  She started to ask why there weren’t any family photos on display, but she didn’t get the chance. “If you’re done, I need to get back to work,” he said, starting toward the door. “The nursery pays by check and I want to cash it at the bank before the drive-up window closes.”

  The word bank reminded her of her own appointment. “You’re right. Let’s get those plants loaded.”

  She opened the door and stepped onto the tiny porch. The house was old. Stick built with narrow siding and peeling paint. She had a sense that this entire area might have been a farm at one time, but she didn’t ask. He’d said he was renting and he probably didn’t care about the place’s past.

  “Didn’t I hear you say you have a cat?”

  He nodded. “Sorta. A stray that thinks he lives here.”

  Liz had noticed an impressive stack of canned food on the counter. She was relieved to know that wasn’t David’s dinner.

  “My roommates’ cats came from a little girl with a box in front of the grocery store. I hadn’t really planned on getting pets before…well, so soon, but Lydia and Reezira adore them.”

  They walked across the empty expanse to where his truck was parked half in, half out of the weathered shop she’d noticed when she drove in. The ground was baked hardpan, cracked and dusty. Miniature whirligigs blew up in the wake of their steps.

  He wasn’t happy to have her there. She wasn’t normally so pushy, but she’d missed not seeing him this week. True, she wasn’t in the market for a boyfriend, but she liked this man.

  Plus, she needed a date for the wedding. How better to get to know a person than by spending time with him under the scrutiny of her large and meddlesome family?

  Now, if she could just work up the nerve to ask him.