He saw the horrified look on the car-jacker’s face as the distance between the cars dissolved. The next moment, his curses swallowed up by the scream of tires and brakes locking, the man frantically tried to prevent a crash.
On the periphery of his consciousness, Malcolm saw men in the area scrambling to get out of the way of what looked like the inevitable. With the skill of a man who had earned his living and his reputation driving at high speeds for the entertainment of others, Malcolm pulled back, avoiding the impact that had seemed so certain a second ago.
And then came the stern peal of sirens as white cars with blue-and-red dancing lights atop their roofs seemed to materialize from every direction. They converged, surrounding the van and Malcolm’s LeMans.
He didn’t wait for them. Didn’t wait for the inevitable questions to assault his sense of privacy. Jumping out of his car, Malcolm hurried to the van. He didn’t give a damn about the driver, who was slumped forward over the wheel. At the last moment, his head had come in contact with the windshield, and while the wheel had prevented him from going through the glass, he’d hit his head and obviously been knocked out.
He could have been dead for all Malcolm cared. That was for the police to handle. Yanking the passenger door open, Malcolm climbed in, scanning the interior for signs of another occupant. A high-pitched wail that somehow managed to rise above the sound of the sirens guided him to the car seat directly behind the driver. And to the unwilling participant in the short-lived joy ride.
It was a little girl, hardly more than a toddler. He hadn’t expected her to be so young. So much like Sally.
The next second, Malcolm felt someone grab his wrist. The car-jacker had come to. With his other hand, he was reaching for the gun that was shoved far too cavalierly in his waistband.
“Hey, man, what the hell did you think you were doing?” the car-jacker demanded.
The car-jacker had no opportunity for any further questions or threats. A service revolver was trained at his head as the young policeman on the other side of the driver’s window loudly ordered him to remove his hand from the butt of his gun.
Losing his nerve, the man instantly raised both hands above his head. A barrage of impotent curses flooded the air as he was unceremoniously yanked from the van by one of Bedford’s finest.
“You watch your mouth around the baby,” the officer warned.
The baby cried louder.
Memories multiplied and changed, like a kaleidoscope rolling down a hill, bursting through Malcolm’s brain. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said in a soft, low voice as he approached the child.
Wide cornflower blue eyes stared at him as the cries faded into the air as quickly as they had come. The little girl had hair as blond as the rays of the morning sun. Captivated, Malcolm smiled at her as he unbuckled the straps restraining her.
Her eyes, huge with wonder, seemed to look right into him.
“Some joyride, huh?” he murmured as he lifted her from her seat. She was wearing rompers, he thought. And looked to be probably around Sally’s age.
Or what Sally’s age had been three years ago, he amended silently.
Holding the little girl against his chest, he cupped his hand protectively over the back of her head and carefully retraced his steps out of the van. He murmured softly to the child to keep her from crying again. Bittersweet sensations filled him. It had been so long since he had held a little girl this way, he thought. Much too long.
Suddenly, Malcolm found himself flanked on three sides by policemen, none of whom looked as if he knew exactly what to make of Malcolm’s part in this unorthodox chase down Main Street.
“Here, let me take her,” one of the policemen said to Malcolm.
He felt the slight nudge of reluctance as he surrendered the child to the younger man. “She looks none the worse for wear,” Malcolm observed.
“No, I guess she doesn’t,” the policeman agreed, his voice thick with emotion.
Only when he held his niece safe in his arms did relief flood Officer Tyler McGuire. News of the car-jacking had crackled over the radio, interrupting a conversation he’d been having with his partner. There’d been instant recognition when the dispatcher recited the van’s license-plate number. Instant recognition and instant fear that Tyler had had to hold in check as he sprang into action.
Satisfied that Robin was all right, Tyler raised his eyes to the stranger’s face. He didn’t know him. “That’s in part thanks to you,” he replied. “I have no idea who you are, but I’m sure glad you came along when you did. Where did you learn how to drive like that?”
A distant smile quirked Malcolm’s lips. “On a farm.”
Now that the baby was safe, the adrenaline was slowly wearing off. He was really going to have to do some catching up today, he thought. He’d promised Mahoney the car by two.
Tyler laughed as Robin gurgled at him. “Must have been one hell of a farm,” he commented. “If it weren’t for you,” Tyler told him, sobering, “she might have become just another statistic.”
Malcolm didn’t want praise or gratitude; he was just happy to set things right. He shrugged away the officer’s words as he began heading back to his car. “Just a matter of being in the right place at the right time, that’s all.”
“Mind following me back?” Tyler called out to him. It was more of an invitation than a question. “My sister is going to want to thank you for this in person.”
Malcolm stopped beside his car. “Sister?” What did the policeman’s sister have to do with anything?
He nodded. “Christa. The woman whose baby you just saved.” Tyler shifted Robin to his other side and thought how good it felt just to hold her. “This is my niece, Robin Winslow.”
Malcolm paused and looked into the face of the child he had rescued. He thought of Sally again and felt his heart squeeze a little. “Nice to meet you, Robin Winslow.”
Tyler thought he detected a hint of a smile on the man’s lips before it faded.
“C’mon back to the minimall,” Tyler urged again as he opened the van’s passenger door. “Christa’s still waiting there.” If he knew his sister, she would remain there indefinitely, praying for a miracle. It looked as if this time she’d gotten one.
They all had, he amended, looking at Robin. “By the way, my name’s Tyler McGuire.”
“Malcolm Evans,” Malcolm said after a moment.
Tyler shook his hand. “I am really glad to meet you. C’mon, Robin, let’s go see Mommy.”
“Mommy,” Robin affirmed.
Tyler laughed as he hugged her. “I’ll drive the van,” he told his partner. “Follow me back.”
His partner, Elliott, nodded and started up the squad car. The other two cars had gone directly to the police station with their prisoner in custody. The man would be spending the night in a holding cell courtesy of the city, and tomorrow, after charges were pressed, he would find himself with another mailing address.
Not waiting for the policeman to go first, Malcolm turned his LeMans around and headed straight toward the minimall.
It surprised him that the incident could have stirred so many memories within him. It was like someone poking a stick at the embers of a fire that hadn’t quite managed to go out.
It was all because he’d held the child, he thought. Holding her had made him remember. And yearn.
And regret.
He blew out a breath, wishing there was some effective way to permanently anesthetize himself so that he didn’t feel anything anymore. Feeling nothing was preferable to feeling pain.
He took the yellow light automatically and turned down the street that fed into the minimall. And saw her. Even some distance away, he knew it had to be her, the woman who had screamed. The woman whose child he’d saved. She couldn’t have been anyone else. The woman, her hair as blond as her daughter’s, was standing on the northernmost curb of the minimall, frantically searching the thoroughfare for some sight of her van.
The way she stood, alert, p
oised, hopeful, made him think of a portrait of a woman from the old seafaring days. Days when women stood watch upon the widow’s walk of a Cape Cod house, looking at the sea for some sign of their husbands’ ships on the horizon.
As soon as she caught sight of the van, Malcolm saw a smile break out over her face. Even at a distance, it was nothing short of radiant.
So radiant that he found himself caught up in its brilliance. It made him feel good for the first time in years. It felt like sunshine seeping through the pores after months in the gloomy mist.
Malcolm saw the woman hurrying past his car, reaching the door of the van before it had come to a full stop. As she ran by, he saw the tears streaming down her face, tears that were in direct contradiction to the smile on her face.
“You got her back!” Christa cried.
Disbelief, joy and relief all tangled together in her voice. Her hands trembled as she opened the door and quickly climbed inside. They shook even more as she snapped open the harness that held Robin in place. She was certain that her heart was going to crack through her ribs as it pounded hard in relief.
“Not me,” Tyler told her as he got out of the vehicle. “He did.” Tyler jerked his thumb at Malcolm’s car.
Daughter pressed against her, Christa sobbed her relief into Robin’s hair. Then, pulling herself together, she stepped out of the van. With Robin in her arms, Christa turned to look at the man her brother had pointed out, the man whom she had seen tearing out after the carjacker.
The man who had given her back the life she saw flowing away from her only fifteen minutes earlier.
“I have no idea how to thank you,” Christa cried. Emotion choked her words away, and she threw her free arm about his neck and hugged him.
Caught in an emotional embrace between the woman and the child in her arms, Malcolm was temporarily at a loss. The last time he’d been standing like this, it had been Gloria and Sally whose embrace he’d shared. Sally with her perpetually sticky fingers, and Gloria, who had smelled like roses. This woman smelled of wildflowers. Memories battered at him, threatening to overwhelm him completely.
They assaulted him even harder as the woman brushed a kiss on his cheek.
He swallowed, separating himself from both of them. “I think that’ll do just fine,” he told her.
Christa wondered why she saw a hint of longing in his eyes as he looked at Robin before stepping away.
“Glad I could help,” he murmured. “Take care of her. Every day is precious.”
And then, just like that, he turned and walked away.
Chapter Two
It took a minute before the image of the retreating back registered. He was walking away. The man who had given her back the very meaning of her life was walking away, and she didn’t even know his name.
Holding her daughter pressed close to her breast,
Christa hurried after Malcolm. Behind her, she heard her brother calling after her.
“Christa, you all right?” Bewilderment tinged his question.
She didn’t turn around. Instead, she held Robin a little tighter as she increased her stride. The little girl squirmed and wriggled against her in protest, but after what she’d just been through, there was no way Christa was going to set Robin down. At least, not yet.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she answered.
Her Good Samaritan, almost a foot taller than she, had a long stride that took him farther and farther away from her with every step. The only way she could catch up was if she ran. Weighed down, she couldn’t, but her eyes never left her target.
Why had he walked away from her just like that, as if he’d only picked up a pencil she’d dropped and returned it to her? Surely the impact of the situation had to have registered. Without even knowing her, he’d risked his life to get her daughter back. Why wouldn’t he let her thank him?
Feeling the weight of the huge debt she owed him, that she would always owe him, Christa couldn’t allow this moment to pass as if it were nothing.
“Mommy?” Robin whimpered, squirming again.
Christa kissed the top of her daughter’s head, but she didn’t slow down. “In a minute, honey. Mommy has to see someone.”
Her arms were locked tightly around Robin. She wished she could make a haven out of them, a haven that would keep Robin safe forever.
But she was safe now, thanks to him.
If nothing else, Christa needed to know what his name was.
Perspiration dripped into Jock Peritoni’s eyes as he looked up from the hot, uncooperative engine he’d been struggling with for the past half hour. The test drive he’d just taken the vehicle on had told him nothing. He didn’t have his father’s or Malcolm’s ear. He couldn’t just listen and be able to narrow down a problem.
He’d been only vaguely aware of the squealing tires and the life-and-death race that had taken place in the far end of the minimall. The engine had absorbed all his attention. He’d wanted to fix it before Malcolm arrived at work.
So far, all his efforts had been wasted.
Relief highlighted his grease-streaked face as he saw Malcolm approach. He’d begun to worry that something was wrong and his boss wasn’t coming in today. Malcolm was never late.
It was only ten minutes shy of nine in the morning, but Jock already felt himself overwhelmed. Wiping his hands on the back of his permanently stained jeans, the nineteen-year-old noticed the woman with the little girl in her arms. It looked as if she was hurrying to catch up to his boss, but Malcolm seemed completely oblivious to the fact that he was being followed.
That wasn’t unusual. Working here over the last year, Jock had noticed that Malcolm Evans had an ability to shut out everything around him when he wanted to.
Circumventing the front end of the car, Jock nodded a greeting at Malcolm. “Hi, boss. You had me worried. I thought maybe you weren’t going to come in.”
Malcolm hadn’t missed a day since he’d opened, though a lot of days he’d wanted to. He knew if he gave in to that feeling, he’d never stop. He’d done that once, and it had taken him almost two years to crawl out of that black hole. “I would have called you if I wasn’t going to be in.”
The voice was solemn, even. Jock’s father had told him that Malcolm had been the life of the party during their racing-circuit days, but Jock found it really hard to believe. He had yet to see a smile on the man. When he had once gathered enough courage to ask him about it, Malcolm had pointed out to him that Jock grinned enough for both of them.
Jock nodded toward the woman who had almost caught up to Malcolm. “Don’t look now, but you’re being followed.”
Preoccupied with memories that had suddenly assaulted him, memories he’d been working so hard to lock away, Malcolm hadn’t heard anyone walking behind him. He stopped and turned around abruptly.
Unable to stop quickly enough, Christa collided with him. Malcolm’s hands went out automatically to steady her and the child she clutched to her. He’d thought he’d left her behind with the policeman who claimed to be her brother.
What was she doing following him? Their business was over.
“What?”
He bit off the question the way he might have bitten off the end of a cigar, spitting it out because it interfered with his goal. Having her anywhere around him, having the child anywhere around him, interfered with his ability to blank out his mind. To forget what only caused him pain to remember.
Christa caught herself swallowing before answering. She felt as if she was being interrogated. What was his problem? And why would anyone who was so obviously unfriendly put himself out to rescue her child? He was behaving like someone who didn’t want to become involved. But he had.
Why?
Robin was sinking. Christa shifted her, moving the little girl up higher in her arms. “I just wanted to thank you.”
“You already did.” Malcolm raised his dark eyes to indicate the rear parking lot where her van was standing, buffered by two squad cars.
“I mean
really thank you,” she insisted. “Words don’t seem adequate.”
“Then don’t waste them,” he advised mildly.
With that, he turned his back on her and walked into the service area where ailing cars and the various parts that could get them up and running again were housed. In the back was a tiny alcove with a door that served as his office, a place where he retreated to when he wanted to be alone.
He was always alone now, Malcolm thought.
She had no idea what to make of him. Christa exchanged looks with the tall, gangly attendant who in turn raised wide, bony shoulders in a helpless shrug.
A car pulled up to the full-service island, and the attendant retreated. She wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, but he looked somewhat relieved about it.
Christa licked her lower lip and tried again. She took a step forward, only to have Malcolm whip around, his hand raised to keep her back.
“This area’s restricted,” he snapped. “You could get hurt here.”
Christa saw nothing that posed any immediate threat beyond the man’s temperament, but she took a step back, more in reaction to his demeanor than anything else.
When she spoke, her voice was patient. “Maybe I’m not making myself clear. You just gave me back my whole life. There has to be something I can do to repay you.”
Her eyes on Malcolm’s face, she stroked Robin’s hair to calm herself. The girl curled up against her, sucking her thumb. Her wide blue eyes were sliding closed, lulled by the soothing action.
He could remember Sally’s eyes sliding closed just like that. Sally, sleeping in his arms.
Sally…
Damn it, why was he doing this to himself?
-His eyes had swept over her, and a glimmer of something tender flickered in them as they rested on Robin. But when he spoke, his voice was just as gruff as it had been a moment ago.
“You could get out of the way. I’ve got a lot of work to do today, and you’re interfering with my schedule.”
Stung, confused and just a shade annoyed, Christa retreated. Emotions raw, she felt completely out of her element here. It was clear that the man couldn’t be thanked. Maybe he had reacted before he thought and now regretted the whole incident. Why, she didn’t know. All she knew was that, for whatever reason, he had saved Robin, and that was enough.
The Man Who Would Be Daddy Page 2