Just Eight Months Old...

by Tori Carrington

Hannah heard a female voice on Elliott’s side of the line, then he said, “Look, Hannah, I got an important call I’ve got to take. Hold on a minute, okay?”

  She opened her mouth to object, then sighed, the sound of Muzak filling her ear. Rocking Bonny back and forth to quiet her, she looked to where Chad still knelt in front of Rita Minelli.

  “Think, Miss Minelli. Lisa Furgeson. Does it ring any bells?” Chad asked the shaken woman.

  “I don’t know about the first name,” she said. “But Eric’s attorney’s last name was Furgeson.”

  Chad met Hannah’s gaze. “When was the last time Eric talked to…his attorney, Miss Minelli?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t think! Yesterday, maybe.” She rubbed her nose with the tissue. “Yes, definitely yesterday.”

  “Eric made the call from here? To this Furgeson?”

  Rita mopped her cheeks with a wad of tissue. “Yes.”

  “What time?” Chad pressed.

  Shrugging, Rita obviously tried to recall. “About four, I guess. Maybe four-thirty.”

  Blackstone’s voice came back on the line. Hannah stretched the twisted phone cord to give her enough length to step into the living room.

  “Elliott, I have some good news and some bad news,” she said quietly, so Rita Minelli wouldn’t overhear. “It’s Persky.”

  “What is it? Did you find him?”

  “Yes, we found him, all right.” She lowered her voice further. “We found him in his girlfriend’s bathroom—dead.”

  Silence drifted across the line and Hannah made no attempt to break it. Finally he said, “What’s the bad news?”

  This wasn’t the first time a target had showed up dead. Though the other two times it had happened to Hannah, the deaths had come about as a result of natural causes. Neither occasion had been anything to celebrate, but she had gotten her bounty nonetheless.

  A black-and-white poster from the old Western era filled her mind. Dead Or Alive, the signs always read above simple sketches of the person in question. The same rules applied today, even though they weren’t advertised.

  She cuddled Bonny closer. “The bad news is that Furgeson wasn’t with Persky and we haven’t a clue where she is—”

  The line suddenly went dead. Hannah peered around the kitchen doorway to find Chad pressing down the cut-off button and holding out his hand for the receiver. Bonny giggled and reached for his hand.

  “I can’t believe you just did that,” Hannah said.

  “I need the phone.” He took the receiver from her when she didn’t offer it. He glanced at her and the baby. The gray of his eyes had changed again to warm mercury. “What did Elliott have to say? He was pretty relieved, I bet.”

  “Relieved isn’t the word,” she said. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going on the assumption the call Persky made from here yesterday was long-distance. If that’s the case, Minelli’s carrier will have a record of it.” He paused. “If I can access the records, bingo. We’ll have Furgeson.”

  Chad asked Rita for her phone number and verified who her carrier was. She answered both and he turned toward the olive-green telephone.

  Rita loudly blew her nose. “But Eric never charged his calls to me.”

  “Do you mean he used a phone card whenever he called anyone?” Hannah asked.

  Rita nodded. “He always kept it in his wallet. Said he didn’t want to make me pay any large telephone bills.”

  Rita Minelli burst into a fresh bout of tears at the reminder of her lover’s thoughtfulness. Hannah squeezed her shoulder, the baby following her lead by laying her chubby hand on top of Rita’s head.

  A few hours later, the Alfa Romeo safely stored in long-term parking at the Atlantic City International Airport, Chad sat back in the coach seat and adjusted his awkward hold on Bonny when the plane hit a pocket of turbulence and lurched forward. The phone number Persky had called yesterday was tucked safely in his wallet. With a little charm, a lot of cajoling and a hard luck story about an ill mother, he’d gotten the long-distance service rep to give him the number with a Houston, Texas, area code. It was the only number Persky had called, and he’d called it twice before he met the bullet with his name on it. Chad absently rubbed his forehead. He only hoped Furgeson was still at the number and hadn’t moved on already.

  Next to him, Hannah dozed. Chad lay his head against the seat and watched her. Repressing the urge to push back a red curl that lay against her cheek, he thought she looked exhausted. As well she should, since she hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. Hell, he hadn’t gotten much sleep, either. He’d spent most of the night alternately listening to Hannah restlessly toss and turn and Bonny make soft sucking noises and occasional cooing sounds. Both unfamiliar sounds to him. Somewhere near five in the morning he’d finally drifted off, only to be awakened with a start to Bonny’s crying and, for a weighty moment, he’d been flung back in time when it hadn’t been Bonny’s cries that filled his ears, but his son, Joshua’s. Chad closed his eyes against the reminder.

  Concentrate on the case, Hogan. The rest will work itself out. He tightened his hold on his slippery daughter who didn’t appear interested in sleeping and hoped he was right.

  They’d get to Houston, find Lisa Furgeson, and then contact Randy McKay at the FBI before McKay found them by tracing the tickets he’d put in his name. Then he’d barter for the slate to be wiped clean so he and Hannah would have some sort of lives to return to when all this was over. Bonny squealed and he loosened his hold, allowing her to bounce around on his lap and entwine her wet fist in his T-shirt. Of course, in order to get McKay to agree to anything, Chad needed something to barter with. Something more than his past connection to the FBI agent. The way this trace was going, he was sure he’d come up with something. He had to.

  It was a dumb move to have got Hannah in trouble with the FBI. Looking at Bonny, he guessed it was pretty dumb he’d gotten himself in trouble, as well. Even if his identification wasn’t totally fraudulent. He just hadn’t touched it in four years. Not until he needed it again. And need it he did. He intended to use every fraction of power he had to end this trace so that his daughter was no longer in danger.

  Chad watched the baby toss her teething ring to the airplane floor. He closed his eyes and sighed. He only hoped the person Persky had called in Houston had indeed been Lisa Furgeson.

  The soft, feathery feel of something against his cheek brought his eyes back open and he stared at the eight-month-old girl in his lap. She made her favorite “Dah” sound. Chad reminded himself that “Dah” meant dog. Not anywhere close to Daddy. Though he wondered if there was much of a difference in Hannah’s eyes. He’d acted like a rangy mutt when she’d asked him to marry her. His need to set things straight between them was what brought him back. Only he’d discovered he was an even meaner dog than he could have ever imagined.

  Bonny studied him intently, her blue eyes wide with curiosity as she patted her stubby, damp fingers against his stubbled chin. He caught her wrist and spontaneously brought her fingertips to his mouth and nibbled on them, eliciting an excited squeal. Despite the pang of doubt at having given himself over to the playful gesture, he smiled. Really smiled. For the first time in, it seemed, forever.

  In that instant, he knew that despite all his posturing, all his vows not to bond with her, the little girl had stolen her way into his heart. He released her hand, suspecting Bonny had found a permanent home in his heart the moment he first laid eyes on her, even before he realized she was his daughter.

  “You’re going to be a little beauty, just like your mom,” he said soberly. Bonny continued to probe his face, almost as if learning him, familiarizing herself with him. She tweaked his nose and he frowned, trying to pry her fingers from his face. He succeeded, but she gave a shrill shriek of annoyance. He chuckled. “Obviously you’re going to be just as ornery as Mom is, too.”

  He tried to distract her by offering her the barf bag sticking out of the chair pocket in front of hi
m. What would have happened had Hannah told him she was pregnant fifteen months ago? He didn’t dare prod too hard, afraid what he might find if he rummaged through the past too diligently. Hannah had come into his life at a time when he hadn’t cared much about anything. He had been wandering from job to job, not throwing himself into much of anything until he discovered bounty hunting. It wasn’t until much later that he figured out his fascination with the profession had more to do with the hope that a crazed skip-tracer could do what he couldn’t—namely, end his suffering in a permanent way—than any real need to prove anything.

  Then came Hannah.

  Bonny smiled at him, and Chad grinned back. He plucked a bottle of juice from the bag on the floor and offered it up. The baby took it, jabbering on about something or other as she put it into her mouth.

  Chad remembered that Blackstone had sent him and Hannah out on the same trace. Upon meeting her, he had been immediately drawn to her colorful spirit, her fresh, direct personality, her slender, tempting body. She was so full of life that whenever he was around her, he couldn’t help but feel her incredible vitality seep into him, warm him, make him feel something other than the numbness he had been living with. And it had been her directness that convinced him that perhaps they could forge something workable together. When she’d moved in with him, he’d told her straight out that they’d never marry. That he could never marry again. That he didn’t have anything left to bring to a marriage. He had guessed that telling her once would be enough. Obviously he guessed wrong. Because marriage was the one thing she wanted from him that he could never give.

  He watched Bonny’s eyes droop closed, then she swayed toward his chest. She caught herself and jerked upright, only to sway in his direction again a few seconds later. Finally she gave in to her tired body and snuggled against his chest, the bottle dropping from her mouth to join the teething ring on the floor.

  The seat belt light dinged on. Chad glanced at Hannah. Even asleep, she exuded that same vitality that had drawn him to her three years ago. He supposed it could be her bright, wild red hair that gave that impression, but knew it was much, much more than that. Hannah was a fighter. A passionate lover of life. And most of all, she was a survivor. That much was evident from the sleeping baby in his arms.

  Still, since seeing her again in Elliott’s office the day before, he was coming to realize that she was right in saying that things had changed. But he suspected their take on the changes were different. Several times since yesterday he’d witnessed a vulnerability in her that had never been a part of her makeup. A fear that had caused her to call to him at Persky’s house. A hesitation that made her involvement in the present situation all the more dangerous.

  This new side to Hannah made him feel that much worse for having hurt her before. And made him hate himself for knowing he’d have to hurt her again.

  “What are you thinking?”

  Chad’s gaze flicked to Hannah’s eyes to find them open. Seemed Bonny’s uncanny ability to move from sleep to wakefulness was an inherited skill. The only evidence that she’d been asleep at all was the huskiness of her voice. He cleared his own throat. “Just wondering if it’s Furgeson we’re going to find at the end of this flight.”

  She turned her head and tried to work the tangles out of her curly hair with her fingers. An impossible task he longed to do himself.

  “Did you have a difficult pregnancy?” he found himself asking.

  She looked at him for a long moment, apparently trying to decipher if she’d heard him right. “I, um, wouldn’t say it was difficult, exactly.” She lay her hand against one of Bonny’s plump legs, then covered her with an airplane blanket. “Challenging is more the word I would use.” She smiled. “Much like Bonny herself.”

  “Did you have morning sickness?”

  “Oh, yes. The beginning of my second trimester, especially, was intolerable. My OB-GYN wanted to submit my name as the master of projectile vomiting.”

  Chad chuckled, thinking of a scene he could only imagine.

  She shook her head. “Not a pretty picture.”

  Bonny moved in her sleep. Chad tried to reposition her.

  “Here, why don’t you let me take her.”

  Chad reluctantly removed his hands so Hannah could scoop Bonny from his chest and cuddle her against her own. Bonny gave a brief, baffled look around, then settled immediately back to sleep. Chad put the blanket over both of them and caught himself smoothing the blue flannel over Hannah’s leg. He glanced up into her face to find her watching him curiously, heat evident in her eyes.

  He coughed and sat back. “Tell me more.”

  He felt her gaze on his profile. “Are you sure you want to hear it?”

  “Yes,” he murmured.

  “Okay….” She was silent for a long moment.

  “Since this was my first pregnancy, the doctor said chances were I’d be in labor for what seemed like forever—But you, well, you probably already know that.”

  Why would he…? Then he realized she was talking about Linda. “No, actually, I didn’t.” He didn’t explain that when his son was born, he was too busy with yet another high-priority case to know what was happening. Instead he met her gaze. “So did you? Have a long labor?”

  Hannah’s sudden smile was contagious. “As luck would have it, our little girl was nearly born in a cab. She was in a hurry to get out and greet the world, and nothing or no one was going to stop her.”

  Chad grew more and more aware that he loved to hear her talk. “Sounds like somebody else I know.”

  He watched the smile slowly fade from her face. She seemed to put extra concentration into finger-combing Bonny’s red hair. “Was your son—I mean, was he a lot like Bonny?”

  “Joshua?” For the first time he shared his name with her, and he wasn’t sure who was more surprised. He wasn’t so much surprised by the fact that he’d said it, but that he hadn’t choked up while doing so. He suspected he hadn’t said his son’s name aloud since losing him. “No. Joshua was quiet. Too quiet, it seemed. He was happy, smiled a lot. But quiet.”

  He felt Hannah’s hand on his before he even realized she’d moved. He welcomed the warm feel of her fingers against his as she leaned her head against his shoulder. “Seeing Bonny must bring back a lot of painful memories of Joshua.”

  He ran his other hand over hers. “Hannah, when we get to Houston, I want you and Bonny to turn back for New York.”

  Her hand in his went still, then she slowly withdrew it. “I can’t do that, Chad.”

  “If it’s the money, don’t worry about it. I’ll still give you half the bounty on both traces.” He looked at her. “Then there’s the matter of the back support I owe you—”

  Hannah sat up so quickly, Bonny was startled awake. “I don’t want any money from you.” He watched her throat convulse around a swallow. “Is that why you think I told you about Bonny? Because I wanted money from you?”

  Chad briefly closed his eyes, wondering if she could have misinterpreted his words more. “No, Hannah, that’s not—”

  “I don’t, you know. Want money from you. I’m perfectly capable of looking after all of Bonny’s needs on my own.”

  He groaned. “I know you are—”

  “So you can just forget about my going back to New York, because it’s not going to happen.”

  He stared at her for a long moment. At the heightened color in her cheeks. The challenging flash in her eyes. The protective way she cradled Bonny who was also watching him, her thumb in her mouth.

  “Okay,” he said, a smile tugging at his mouth. Hannah’s eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch. He could virtually see the wind leaving her sails. She sat back again and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Okay.”

  “On the going back to New York part, I mean,” he added. “The rest…Well, the rest we can talk about when we get home.”

  Home.

  Hannah appeared as surprised by his use of the word as he did. But neither of them had a chance to
comment as the pilot announced their descent into Houston.

  “We probably could have driven here quicker.” Hannah rolled her shoulders, attempting to loosen the kinks, though it wasn’t her muscles she was concerned about. It was the funny tickle in her stomach caused by Chad’s genuine interest in the details of her pregnancy. The niggle of confusion edging her thoughts as the result of his request that she and Bonny go back to New York.

  She slid a gaze to where Chad walked beside her holding Bonny, even though he also rolled the folded stroller. His expression as he looked at their daughter was more relaxed than she’d seen it recently. She forced the thought away, not ready to consider the changes he was going through when she was going through so many of her own.

  She patted her concealed stun gun, making certain it was stable after claiming it from security, having checked it in with Chad’s gun and his duffel in Atlantic City.

  Bonny lunged for her and Hannah hoisted her into her arms. She led them to a row of chairs, then fumbled through the diaper bag for a handy wipe. “Tell me, Chad, what do we do if the person at the other end of this leg doesn’t turn out to be Furgeson?” She hated to ask the question, but time was ticking by. The four days they were given was now down to two. It wasn’t so much the money involved that concerned her, though she certainly needed it. She didn’t like not knowing what Chad would do when the manhunt was over.

  He watched her clean the juice smears off Bonny’s cheek. “I guess we’ll have to cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  Bonny leaned away from her and started crying. Hannah threw the wipe into a nearby garbage bin.

  Chad studied the crowded lobby. “All I know is that we’d better find Furgeson ASAP. The others looking for her are definitely not afraid of guns or using them.”

  Hannah shivered. Whoever killed Eric Persky would probably not hesitate to do the same to Furgeson. Unless Furgeson was the power behind the trigger.

  She blinked when Chad stared at her. She fought the urge to swipe at her own face, afraid she had a peanut crumb or salt stuck to her upper lip, compliments of the plane ride. “What? Why are you looking at me that way?”