Just Eight Months Old...

by Tori Carrington

  He squinted against the sunlight as she hurried away. She hadn’t looked at him directly since coming out of the casino.

  Ever since seeing her with the baby the day before and realizing Bonny was his, he’d felt an odd sense of disorientation. He told himself it was because a man didn’t find out every day that he had fathered a daughter that was now eight months old. And it wasn’t every day that the child’s mother looked as if she wanted nothing from him. Lord, she looked like she would be happier if he’d just up and disappear from the face of the earth.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. Then why had she agreed to their partnership, however temporary? Sure, she had put up a fight initially, but it had been no more than a token protest. Even he knew that. And there was nothing keeping her here now. Unless…

  Unless she needed the money.

  Clenching his jaw, he turned toward the casino. Why hadn’t that occurred to him before? In all the thinking he’d done on the situation, he’d never once stopped to consider how all this had impacted Hannah. Life as a single parent, much less a single mother in a career where you couldn’t exactly take your baby to work if you couldn’t find a sitter, had to be challenging at best. If for support reasons alone, she should have sought him out more diligently, sent child support agents, or whatever they were called, after him. Bonny was also his daughter, after all. His responsibility.

  Chad slowed his step as he entered the casino. He realized then that Hannah, herself, had never made any mention of his financial responsibilities. And she probably wouldn’t, either. Not the Hannah McGee he knew. No. One of the many characteristics he’d always admired about her was her strength. Her courage. It probably never even occurred to her to ask him for money. To ask anyone for help, for that matter. He figured her disposition likely stemmed from having limited family to rely on while growing up. Her mother had died during childbirth. Her father had been a cop and probably spent more hours on the job than off, then even he was taken from her while she was still a teen. Those two events alone were enough to majorly screw anyone up. It didn’t take a psychologist to figure that out. But not Hannah. Instead she’d become a better, stronger person as a result of them.

  God, he felt lower than the patterned pile carpeting he stood on. He also admired her more than he ever had.

  Suddenly the sounds of the casino penetrated his thoughts and he remembered why he was there and what he had to do. Despite the early hour, the place bustled with activity. From the shining chandeliers in the lobby to the rows of one-armed bandits and gaming tables just visible through large archways, there was an aura of excitement, promise and a taste of anticipation. And a timelessness no watch could defeat.

  And Chad wanted nothing to do with any of it.

  He immediately spotted a pretty brunette sipping coffee and talking to the tender at the far end of the bar. He knew instantly it was Rita Minelli.

  Striding toward two pay phones he had noted the night before, he took an Out Of Order sign from his pocket and taped it to one of them, then picked up the receiver of the other. Smoothing out the yellow page he had torn from the motel’s phone book that morning, he inserted the coins and dialed. By now Hannah was out front with the car. The line rang and he shifted slightly, watching the bartender leave Rita and move to the other end of the bar.

  “I have a message for Rita Minelli,” Chad said the instant the bartender picked up. “Tell her it’s urgent that she come home immediately.”

  The bartender started to say something, but Chad pulled the receiver from his ear and hung it up. He slanted a gaze toward the bar. Come on, tell her.

  One thing he had learned, the quicker the phone answerer relayed the message, the more urgency he conveyed, and the more likely it was the receiver of the message wouldn’t check before following through on it. Especially in cases where illegal activity was involved. Chad clenched and unclenched his fists, watching the bartender poke at the body of the phone. Finally hanging up, the guy looked at Minelli and stepped in her direction.

  “Here we go,” Chad said, watching Minelli take her purse from where the bartender handed it to her from behind the bar.

  The brunette hurried toward the door, not even giving the pay phones a second glance. Chad left the Out Of Order sign on the other phone and followed her out at a discreet distance.

  “That must be it. The brownstone,” Hannah said.

  Chad slowed the Alfa a block away from the building Rita stopped her scratched and dented Chevy in front of. It was indeed a brownstone, but not in the same sense as those found in The Village or Upper West End of Manhattan. Instead, the building’s first floor served as a secondhand furniture store, while the upper two floors were apparently divided into apartments. The label “brownstone” came from cheap brown shingles covering the outer walls of the building. Hannah’s gaze drifted to the upper floors. Which one held Eric Persky, if indeed Persky was the one Minelli was hurrying home to?

  A rusted Monte Carlo momentarily blocked her view and she frowned. The car looked familiar. She considered the darkly tinted windows, then remembered that a similar vehicle had nearly run her over in Queens yesterday. The Monte Carlo turned a corner, taking her thoughts with it.

  Hannah reached for her door handle. Chad grasped her arm, sending an unwelcome warmth surging through her. A warmth that had nothing to do with the already stifling heat of the day, and everything to do with Chad.

  “I’m going in. Alone.” His stare dared her to object.

  Hannah uneasily shrugged his hand off, for the first time in a very long time not knowing what to say. There was no mistaking the protective shadow in his eyes as he looked at her, then at Bonny in her car seat.

  “You never offered to shoulder my share of the load before, Chad. Why now?”

  He opened his mouth apparently to answer, then closed it again.

  Hannah sighed. “Oh, I get it. Now I’m a mother and I’m incapable of bringing in even a white-collar criminal.” She took a deep breath. “Having a baby doesn’t incapacitate a person, Chad. I can get this guy just as easily as you can.”

  “Did I say you couldn’t?” he said, his gaze shifting to Minelli, who had parked her car in front of the brownstone.

  “You might as well have.” He opened the driver’s door. “This has nothing to do with your being a mother, Hannah.” His guilty expression seemed to indicate otherwise. “If it makes you feel any better, you can get the next one, okay?”

  Hannah opened her mouth to protest further, to tell him she’d done just fine on her own up until now, thank you very much, when he curved the fingers of his right hand over her jaw and slid them back toward her ear. He gently pressed the callused pad of his thumb against her lips to prevent her from saying anything.

  Her breath caught in her lungs. His gaze meandered over her hair and he seemed to lose his train of thought. “I’d forgotten how soft your hair is,” he murmured.

  Even she heard her thick swallow. He smiled and she felt her cheeks go hot.

  “Please, Hannah, don’t argue with me on this one. We’ll talk about the how, when and why later, okay?”

  The pressure of his thumb and his fingers was suddenly gone and so was he as he climbed from the car. Hannah stifled a needy whimper.

  It had been so long since she’d felt exclusively like a woman. A young, desirable woman who wanted to give as much as receive pleasure. So very long since she’d been kissed silly, made love to. Somewhere down the line she’d convinced herself her happiness could come solely from being a good mother to Bonny. The signals her body sent her told her how very wrong she’d been.

  Mystified, she sank back into the seat, watching him sprint after the brunette who had disappeared into the building’s apartment entrance. She caught herself appreciating the solid curve of his rear beneath his faded jeans and purposely turned her head. Beyond her confusing sexual feelings toward Chad, she didn’t quite know what to make of his behavior this morning. Last night he was so upset with her. Today…Toda
y it seemed he was going out of his way to make the situation easier for her. The leap only added to her baffled state.

  Chad disappeared into the building and Bonny started crying in the back seat. Hannah started to turn toward her when something caught her eye. More specifically, someone. From the doorway Chad had entered, a dark-haired man stepped outside. Then from the shadows nearby, another joined him and both crossed the street, meeting a third man with balding hair and glasses. The three spoke for a moment, then they strode down the street away from her and the car, their gait easy. Too easy.

  The smell of dust and heat assaulted Chad as he shadowed Rita Minelli. Sounds drifted down the stairs. Morning cartoons…someone doing dishes…the smell of something cooking. All distinct, ordinary sounds.

  As he neared the second floor, he heard the squeaking of a door being opened. He ducked off to the side of the stairwell.

  “Why, Miss Minelli,” an elderly woman said, stepping into the hall and smoothing down the material of her plain, flower-print dress. “This is a surprise. Aren’t you supposed to be working this morning?”

  Rita Minelli didn’t look too pleased by the woman’s greeting, but she stopped to address her neighbor just the same. “Yes, Mrs. Gardner, I am. But something came up. If you’ll excuse me…”

  She hadn’t moved two feet before the old woman said, “Then you must not have been home when I heard that noise.”

  Rita froze as did Chad where he hid.

  “Noise?” Rita asked.

  The old woman smiled. “Normally I’m not one to pry in others’ affairs, but this noise was a bit difficult to ignore. Interrupted my breakfast, it did. Sounded like someone moving furniture around. But that couldn’t be, I told myself. You had already left for work. And it was only eight o’clock in the morning.”

  Chad wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, his jacket not helping the heat but necessary to hide the 9 mm revolver he carried.

  “I’m sure you’re mistaken, Mrs. Gardner. It was probably something outside,” Rita said.

  The old woman was unconvinced.

  “I’m rarely mistaken, Miss Minelli. Especially when two men came from the apartment right afterward, and neither of them was your gentleman friend. One went out that way.” She motioned toward the back hall.

  “The other went out the front.”

  Rita hurried toward the door to the next apartment, her hands obviously shaking as she fumbled with her keys. She began to slide her key into the lock, but the pressure caused the door to open instead. Chad cursed. Despite how secure Eric—and he was sure Eric was the elusive “gentleman friend”—felt in his girlfriend’s place, he doubted the bail-jumper would leave the door unlocked.

  Chad bolted into the hall and shifted the brunette away from the front of the door.

  “Step aside, Miss Minelli.” He motioned for Rita to get behind him. “Stay here. It may not be safe.”

  Rita was visibly shaken. “Safe? What do you mean? Why wouldn’t it be safe? Who are you?”

  “FBI,” Chad said, blocking the woman’s words out and concentrating instead on the sounds—or lack of them—inside the apartment. He wasn’t taking any chances. Sliding his hand under his jacket, he withdrew his revolver.

  Rita gasped, then clamped her hand over her mouth.

  “Maybe you should go have a cup of tea with Mrs. Gardner,” he said, nudging Rita to where her neighbor still stood in the hall watching them.

  Chad slowly pushed the door open, squinting into the murky darkness. Nothing but silence. Thick curtains were drawn against the morning sun, and very likely against the heat. Not that it helped. The small apartment was as hot as an overcrowded jail cell. He stepped warily inside, scanning the dim interior. The living room was off to his right, threadbare furniture and scarred wood tables the decorator’s choice, while off to his left was a small dining room. He leaned in that direction, earning a clean view into the empty kitchen, the muzzle of his gun pointed toward the ceiling, but ready to fire at the first sign of threat.

  Everything appeared normal enough. In fact, too normal. And too quiet.

  On the far wall were two closed doors. The bedroom and the bathroom were his guess. He silently crossed the room and flanked the door to the bedroom. He smoothly and quickly opened it, his pistol following his gaze as he visually searched the interior. Nothing. No Persky. Only a pair of slacks draped across the made bed gave any indication that a man had been there. And very recently at that. He opened and closed the closet door, then backtracked to stand outside the bathroom.

  Unlike the bedroom door, which had been slightly ajar, the bathroom door was solidly shut. Chad stood flush against the wall next to it and slightly moved his head closer to the wood, listening for any sounds. No water splashed in the sink. No toilet refilling. No rustling of clothing that would accompany someone’s movements.

  Slowly reaching out, he gripped the tarnished door-knob. The old woman next door said she hadn’t seen Persky leave. That meant he had to be in the apartment somewhere.

  “You put your career before everything and everyone.” His wife Linda’s voice chose that moment to haunt him. “Even before Joshua and me.”

  “I’m doing this for you,” was his forever ready response.

  But it wasn’t Linda’s face he saw now; it was Hannah’s. In her arms she held a crying Bonny, much as she had at the motel that morning when she’d tried to comfort the teething baby. And he’d walked out.

  A rivulet of sweat trickled down over his brow, but he ignored it and threw the door open, this time staying right where he was with his gun at the ready rather than filling the open doorway.

  Nothing.

  He cautiously moved to peer into the small bathroom and immediately spotted Persky. Only he had nothing to fear from the man. No one would have anything to fear from Eric Persky ever again.

  Chapter Six

  Hannah carefully held the bathroom door to look inside. The man who had to be Persky was sprawled in the old claw-foot tub, naked and very obviously dead. The sound of Rita Minelli crying in the nearby kitchen completed the grim picture.

  Shuddering, Hannah closed the door then met Chad in the hall. Bonnie squealed and leaned in her direction. She took her from Chad.

  Chad shrugged out of his jacket, his gun and holster plainly visible. “Let’s see if Miss Minelli knows where Furgeson is.”

  “Do you think Lisa Furgeson could be behind this?”

  “Hell, I don’t know, Hannah. Money has a strange effect on people.” He studied her face. “If she didn’t do it, she may be next on the killer’s hit list.”

  For the second time that day, Chad did something she would have never expected. Slowly, as if weighing the wisdom of such a move, he brushed a strand of damp hair from her cheek, then rested his hand on her shoulder. She stared at him, spellbound. The curious expression in his eyes battled with something else, causing her heart to skip a beat.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She stared at him, unable to breathe.

  “I’m fine,” she forced out, avoiding his gaze by concentrating on the stubble marring his strong chin.

  Apparently not pleased that she’d been forgotten, Bonny squealed willfully. Hannah smoothed her hair back, then looked at Chad, her heart contracting. This wasn’t turning out to be a routine case at all. The way it was going, this skip-trace was their most dangerous to date. She shuddered, trying to tell herself everything would be okay, but she wasn’t buying it.

  “Come on, let’s go see what Minelli’s got to say,” Chad said.

  In the cramped, fried fish-smelling confines of the kitchen, Chad held out a box of tissues. Rita Minelli grabbed a handful. Angling the baby away from the buttons of the wall-mounted telephone, Hannah punched out Elliott Blackstone’s number in New York. She didn’t even want to speculate on how Chad had introduced himself to Minelli.

  “Rita, there are a few questions we have to ask you.”

  Red-rimmed eyes lifted. “Who
would do this?” she whispered. “He never hurt anyone. Who would want to hurt him?”

  Hannah frowned at the restless baby in her arms, waiting for the line to ring.

  “Rita, what did Eric tell you about his situation? Did he share anything with you about his personal finances, partnerships?” Chad asked.

  “I’m not sure what you mean.” She rolled her eyes to stare at the ceiling. “The only thing I know about his personal finances is that he said his aunt died. A distant one, I guess, who left him a large inheritance.” Tears burst from her eyes anew. “We had plans. Once his attorney cut through the red tape we were going on a long trip.”

  Hannah shifted the receiver slightly so the baby could hear the ringing. Bonny instantly quieted.

  Chad crouched down so he was at eye level with Rita, but there was no gentleness in the action. “Did Eric ever mention a woman named Lisa Furgeson to you?”

  The line rang once, then Blackstone barked a hello into the receiver. Hannah pressed it tightly against her ear, ignoring Bonny’s vocal protests.

  “Elliott?”

  “Hannah! My God, I’ve been going crazy here waiting for you to call. Where in the hell are you? What is going on? Did you find Persky and Furgeson—”

  “Slow down,” Hannah said. “One question at a time, El.”

  She could practically see the bail bondsman trying to control himself and distantly wondered what color silk-blend suit he wore today. Probably the green, since he’d worn the blue yesterday.

  “All right, all right.” He enunciated the words carefully. “Tell me, what’s going on? Is Hogan with you?”

  “Yes, Hogan is with me.” She paused. “Has anyone been asking about us?”

  “Anyone?” he repeated loudly. “Try the FBI, for God’s sake. Some guy named McKay who wants you two—badly.”

  “Great.” Hannah clutched the receiver. Chad had been right in not returning to her apartment before leaving New York. Obviously the agents had gotten her plate number. That they had already talked to Blackstone meant McKay was a fast worker.