FOR THE BABY'S SAKE

by Beverly Long

  He nodded and pulled his hands away. He looked her straight in the eye. He slowly raised his right hand, reaching toward her face. She caught his fingers with her own and gently pushed his hand back to his side. Then she deliberately and carefully reached up and on her own, all on her own, tucked the wayward strand of hair behind her ear.

  He gave her a sad half smile. Without another word, he left the room.

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING, Sawyer waited impatiently while they brought Mirandez up to see him. The door opened, and his slimy attorney came in first, carrying a briefcase almost bursting at the seams. Mirandez shuffled in next, his hands cuffed in front of him.

  Sawyer hadn’t wanted to come. He didn’t want to even look at the murdering bastard. But he’d come up empty-handed in his search for the men who had terrorized Liz. Even the guys on the inside couldn’t shake loose any information.

  “This is highly irregular, Detective,” the attorney said, setting his briefcase down on the table with a thud. “What is it that’s so important that you had to talk to my client at the crack of dawn? It’s barely seven o’clock.”

  He didn’t care whose butt he’d had to drag out of bed. He’d been up all night. But still he had nothing. “Your client arranged to have Liz Mayfield beaten and threatened.”

  “That’s impossible,” the attorney said, disregarding Sawyer’s statement.

  Sawyer didn’t bother to respond. He’d been studying Mirandez. For the briefest second, the man had looked surprised, then he’d completely closed down, pulling his usual sneer back in place.

  “Are you charging him?”

  “I want to ask him some questions.”

  “Under the circumstances, I will advise my client not to answer.”

  Mirandez sat up straighter in his chair. “Shut up, Bill. You talk too damn much.”

  The attorney’s face turned red. Sawyer almost felt sorry for him until he remembered that the guy made his living defending killers. He deserved to be treated like dirt.

  Mirandez rocked back in his chair. “Do you lie awake at night thinking these things, Cop?”

  Mirandez was half-right. Since he’d let Liz slip out of his life, Sawyer had spent most of his nights staring at the ceiling, afraid to close his eyes, afraid to give in to the temptation to remember what it felt like to be wrapped in her arms. Last night, after walking away from her yet again, he’d worked himself to death, poring over reports, talking to informants, hoping he could forget the look in her eyes when she’d told him goodbye.

  “You need to hire better help,” Sawyer said. “Your guys ID’d you. They said you sent them. We’ve got both letters. You’re not going to get away with this.”

  “You bore me.” Mirandez put both hands on the table and twirled his thumbs. “What do you think I am? Stupid?”

  “I think you’re the scum of the earth.”

  Mirandez laughed. “Yes, well, I think you’re pretty much an SOB yourself.”

  “Mr. Mirandez,” the attorney began before a sharp look from his client had him shutting his mouth.

  Mr. Mirandez? How freaking much was Mirandez paying the guy to get him to suck up that way? There wasn’t enough money in the world. Mr. Mirandez? It made Sawyer sick. Nobody in his right mind would give Mirandez that kind of respect.

  As suddenly as that, Sawyer figured it out. Mirandez. Not Mr. Mirandez, not Dantel Mirandez. He only went by Mirandez. Mary called him Dantel. Nobody else did. Nobody in his gang would. They probably didn’t even know his first name.

  “The baby isn’t even mine. I don’t care what happens to it.”

  Whoever had sent the men hadn’t known that the baby wasn’t Mirandez’s. The men had warned Liz to stay away from Dantel’s baby. Someone smart enough to throw the blame on Mirandez had hurt Liz. Why? Who? Would they try again?

  Sawyer stood and grabbed his coat.

  “Hey, what’s your hurry?” Mirandez looked around the room. “While it’s not Vegas, I thought we might play some cards. I’ll stake you a couple hundred. I know you cops don’t make much of a living.”

  “At least we make it honestly,” Sawyer said and left before he followed through on his urge to slam Mirandez up against the wall.

  He walked to his car, dialing Liz’s number on his cell. The phone rang four times then the voice mail kicked on. He didn’t want to leave a message. Wasn’t sure what he even had to tell her. Just knew he needed to talk to her, needed to hear her voice. Needed to know that she was okay. He dialed OCM’s main number next. Jamison answered on the second ring.

  “Yes.”

  “Jamison, it’s Sawyer Montgomery. I’m trying to get in touch with Liz. Is she there by any chance?”

  “No. I haven’t heard from her. She’s supposed to be here at noon. We’re meeting with Howard Fraypish. I talked to her early this morning. She had some errands to run and then she planned to stop by. I’ll let her know to call you.”

  “Do that.”

  He redialed Liz’s number. This time, when the voice mail kicked on, he left a brief message. “Liz, it’s Sawyer. I don’t think it was Mirandez’s guys who attacked you. So, be careful, okay? Please call me. I know you probably don’t want to talk to me. But just let me know you’re okay. That’s all you have to do. Just let me know.”

  He hung up before he started to beg. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Liz was in danger. Not knowing what else to do, he drove. He went to Liz’s apartment and pounded on the door. He dialed her number again and again. When her voice mail kicked on the last time, he said, “Liz, damn you, where are you? Call me.”

  He called Mary’s room at the hospital. She hadn’t seen her. He got the number of Randi’s apartment and called there just in case. No luck. He called Robert and told him what was going on.

  He was going to be too late. Something horrible had happened to Liz, and he was going to lose her. She’d never know how much he loved her. He hadn’t been able to tell her. He’d chosen to let her believe that it wasn’t enough.

  Life is about choices. That was what she’d told him. Liz had chosen to live. She’d survived her sister’s death, she’d learned to let go, to forgive herself for not being there. She’d chosen to make a difference in the lives of countless young women, allowing them to fully understand and appreciate that no matter how desperate the situation, they always had a choice.

  They could lie or tell the truth. Give or take. Laugh or cry. Love or be empty forever.

  Sawyer wiped the tears from his eyes as he drove down the familiar street. Without thinking, he went to the one place that gave him peace. He found his regular spot and parked the car. It had started to rain. It didn’t matter. The cold, wet day couldn’t touch him. He opened the gate of the small cemetery nestled between a church and a school. He took the path to the left. Then he knelt next to his son’s grave and placed a hand on the shiny marker.

  When he’d left Baton Rouge, his son had come with him. It had been the only choice.

  The rain fell harder, hitting his head, his face, mixing with the tears that ran freely down his cheeks. He couldn’t hear a thing besides the beating of his own heart.

  Choices. He didn’t want to give up his last chance to make the right one.

  So, he bent his head, all the way to the ground, and he kissed the wet, cold earth that sheltered his child. He didn’t kiss him goodbye. Never that. His son would always have a special place in his heart. But his heart needed to be bigger now. It needed to hold Liz and Catherine.

  He’d been a coward. He knew now that he’d rather have one minute, one day, one week with Liz than a lifetime of being alone and afraid.

  He knew he couldn’t keep Liz or Catherine safe from all harm. He couldn’t wrap them up in cotton and hide them from the danger that lurked in dark corners. They might get hurt. They might get s
ick. But he wanted to be there every step of the way, holding them, supporting them, making sure they knew they were loved more than life itself.

  * * *

  WHEN HE GOT BACK to the car, he tried Liz’s apartment again. Still no answer. He checked his machine at work. No messages. Damn it.

  He checked the time. Ten minutes after ten. Jamison had said they had a meeting with Fraypish at noon. Not knowing what else to do, Sawyer tried Jamison again.

  “Yes,” Jamison answered.

  “It’s Sawyer Montgomery. Any word from Liz?”

  “No. I’ve tried a couple times. I swear this meeting is doomed. I can’t reach Howard, either.”

  Fraypish. Liz had gone to see him and then been attacked. “Jamison, how well do you know Howard Fraypish?”

  “We’re like brothers. Why?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just that there’s something about him that nags at me.”

  “He’s odd, but if you’re thinking that he would harm Liz, that just wouldn’t happen. When Liz got that first death threat from Dantel, Howard was just outraged.”

  Sawyer remembered Liz standing outside the hotel, whispering, He doesn’t know about the letter. Please don’t tell him.

  “How did he know about the letter, Jamison?”

  “I don’t know. I might have mentioned it, I suppose.”

  A slow burn started in Sawyer’s stomach. Mirandez’s goons hadn’t written the second letter. No, it had been somebody who knew about the first letter but hadn’t actually seen it. Somebody who hadn’t realized that Mayfield had been spelled wrong or that the grammar had been rough. Somebody who knew how to spell conscience and what it meant. Somebody who knew Mirandez as Dantel. That was what Mary called him. Sometimes Liz, too, especially after she’d been talking with Mary. Jamison had just referred to him as Dantel. That was likely the name he’d used when he’d been chatting with his buddy.

  Sawyer turned a sharp left. “Jamison, what’s Fraypish’s address?”

  The man hesitated, then rattled it off.

  Sawyer hung up, called for backup and started praying. He couldn’t lose her now. Not when he’d just found himself.

  When he got there, he parked his car in front of the three-story brownstone. He took the steps two at a time. He had his fist just inches away from the door, ready to knock, when he heard a crash inside the house. He put his ear to the door and pulled his gun out of his holster. He could hear Liz and then another voice. An angry voice. A man’s voice.

  She was alive. He stepped away from the door, pulled out his cell phone and called for backup. He debated all of two seconds before he tried the handle. Locked. He heard a car pull up and realized that Jamison had also come.

  He held up a finger warning the man to be quiet. “Do you have a key?”

  “Yes. I feed his cats when he’s not home.” Jamison pulled out a ring and pointed at a gold key.

  Sawyer inserted it quietly and opened the door just inches. He could hear their voices more clearly. Fraypish was yelling.

  “You stupid woman. I am not going to let you ruin everything.”

  “Howard, you’re never going to get away with it.”

  “I’ve been getting away with it for months. Your boss, Jamison, my good buddy, always was a trusting soul. And a fool.”

  “Why, Howard? At least tell me why you had to sell the babies.”

  “I’m not lucky at cards. At craps, either.”

  “How could you?”

  Sawyer could hear the disgust in Liz’s voice. Silently, he made his way down the hall.

  “Easy. You’d be amazed at how desperate some people are to have a baby. Especially healthy, white infants like your little Catherine. They’ll borrow from friends and family, mortgage their house. Whatever it takes. They’ll drop a hundred thousand without blinking an eye.”

  “You make me sick,” Liz said.

  “You don’t understand, Liz. I tried to convince you to stay away from that baby. When that didn’t work, I hired a few guys to make my point. But still, you won’t stop. I have to stop you.”

  “Howard, please, don’t do this. We’ll talk to Jamison. We’ll get you help.”

  “It’s too late. I borrowed money from the wrong people. If I don’t make regular payments, they’ll hurt me. Bad. They’re due a check this week. I don’t have any other babies in the pipeline. I need yours.”

  “You’ll never get away with it. Jamison will figure it out.”

  “No, he won’t. When you don’t show up for the noon meeting, Jamison and I’ll come looking for you. We’ll find the body, I’ll console Jamison, and your little Catherine will be on the market by dinnertime.”

  With that, Sawyer came around the corner. With one sharp downward thrust on Fraypish’s arm, he knocked the gun out of his hand. Then he tackled the man, sending his fist into the guy’s jaw. That was for the bruised jaw. He hit him again. That was for the cracked rib. He had his arm pulled back, ready to swing again, when two sets of hands pulled him off Fraypish.

  “That’s enough, Detective. We’ll take it from here.”

  Sawyer shook his head to clear it. Two officers stood on each side of him. He took a step back. Liz sat on the bed, her arms wrapped around her middle. Tears ran down her face.

  He pulled her into his arms.

  “Thank you for getting here in time,” she whispered. “I feel so stupid. I had no idea.”

  He held her. “Me, neither, honey. I focused on Mirandez, and I missed Fraypish.”

  “It’s not your fault,” she assured him.

  Maybe not but he couldn’t even think about what might have happened if he’d arrived five minutes later. He pulled back, just far enough that he could see her eyes. “I love you,” he said, not willing to go another second without her knowing exactly how he felt. “I’ve been a stupid fool. I don’t want to lose you. Tell me I haven’t lost you. Tell me I’m not too late.”

  “What about your son?”

  He brushed a tear off her cheek. “I loved him before he was born. Once I’d held him, he was the moon and stars and everything that was perfect. And when you love that much and you can’t hold on to it, it hurts. It rips you apart. I didn’t ever want to hurt like that again.”

  She kissed him, a whisper of lips against his cheek. “I never meant to hurt you.”

  “You were right. Life is about choices. When you love someone, there’s a risk. You can choose to avoid risks, to never take the big leap off the cliff into the water, but then you never know the absolute joy of coming to the surface, the stunning glory of the bright sunshine in your eyes. I don’t want to stand at the top alone.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Liz, I’m ready to jump. You have my heart. Take my hand. And together, with Catherine, we’ll build a family. I’ll take care of you, I promise. I love you. Please say you’ll try.”

  She kissed him on the lips, and he allowed himself to hope. “You are the kindest, most loving and most...capable man I’ve ever met. I know you’ll take care of me. I want a chance to take care of you.” She reached out and took his hand. “And I want us to take care of our daughter together.”

  * * * * *

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  Chapter One

  JUST INSIDE THE door, she stopped to take a look around the apartment to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. This place, like all the others she’d lived in, held no special sentimental value for her. Neither would the next one, she thought. She’d learned a long time ago not to get too attached to anything.

  The knock on the other side of the door startled her. She froze, careful not to make a sound. The building super, Mr. McNally, again, wanting the back rent? She should have left earlier.

  Another knock. She thought about waiting him out, but her taxi was already downstairs. She would have to talk her way out of the building. It wasn’t as if this was the first time she’d found herself in a spot like this.

  She opened the door, ready to do whatever it took to reach her taxi.

  It wasn’t Mr. McNally.

  A courier stood holding a manila envelope, a clipboard and a pen.

  “Dee Anna Justice?” he asked.

  She looked from him to the envelope in his hand. It looked legal. Maybe some rich uncle had died and left Dee Anna a fortune.

  “Yes?”

  He glanced past her into the empty apartment. She’d sold all the furniture and anything else that wasn’t nailed down. Seeing him judging her living conditions, she pulled the door closed behind her. He didn’t know her. How dare he? He had no idea what kind of woman she was, and he certainly wasn’t going to judge her by the mess she’d left in the apartment.

  She cocked a brow at him, waiting.

  “I need to see some identification,” he said.

  Of course he did. It was all she could do not to smile. Well, sneer, as she produced a driver’s license in the name of Dee Anna Justice. She’d known where to get a fake ID since she was fourteen.