The Return of Connor Mansfield

by Beth Cornelison

  Dr. Reed sank slowly to her chair, clearly absorbing the stunning news. “Witness protection? So that’s the reason for your changed appearance?”

  Connor nodded and explained his situation briefly.

  Dr. Reed chewed the end of her pen as she mulled his revelations. “Should trouble arise, will you leave town again? I need a firm commitment from you. I have to know you won’t disappear partway through the procedure.”

  “I will do everything in my power to complete the procedure. You have my word.”

  Savannah’s doctor tapped a finger against her lips. Her expression clearly said she was analyzing the information and deciding how it might affect Savannah’s treatment. “As long as everyone understands that Savannah’s health is my primary concern, and I must have the final say in all matters regarding her arrangements, I don’t see why we can’t move forward and work through these circumstances. But I will not stand for any outside party interfering with Savannah’s treatment or trying to supersede my authority in regard to her medical care in any manner.”

  Connor nodded. “Understood. I’ll make sure the marshals know your terms.”

  “Of course, I’ll do everything I can to cooperate with the marshals for your protection, so long as it doesn’t put Savannah’s health at risk.” Dr. Reed angled her head. “Where are these marshals now?”

  “One is in an unmarked car in the parking lot,” Connor said, “and one is in the hallway just outside the waiting room. More man power will be called in as the need is established.”

  Dr. Reed puffed out a breath and flipped open the file on her desk. “All right, then. Shall we get started? We have a lot to cover and only a few minutes to hit the highlights before I have to be in surgery.” She sifted through the papers and met Connor’s eyes. “We’ve completed the tests on the DNA sample you gave last week, and I’m satisfied with the numbers they sent.”

  Darby scooted forward, hovering on the edge of the sofa. Her eyes shone with eager anticipation. “Does that mean he’s a match? Can Connor donate his marrow?”

  The doctor smiled. “He’s not a perfect match, but it would be rare, almost unheard of, for a parent to match all of the markers. However, he’s close enough that we can move forward with the transplant.”

  Darby’s face lit up, and happy tears filled her eyes. Connor’s hopes lifted as well, loosening the pressure in his chest and allowing him to take an easier breath. His pulse was already revved when Darby reached for his knee and curled her fingers into the leg of his khaki pants. The gesture surprised him, and a side glance told him she might not have even realized what she’d done. Her attention was still focused fully on Dr. Reed, myriad questions in her eyes. But her touch, her unconscious quest for a connection between them, jolted through him. Quietly he wrapped his hand around hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

  “I want you to know how rare it is to have a parental match. You’re very lucky. That’s the good news. Our detailed DNA tests analyzed the resolution for HLA-A, B, C and DRB1—”

  “Whoa, whoa!” Connor shook his head and shot a hand up to stop Dr. Reed. “Enough of the alphabet soup. Layman terms, please, until I have a chance to do more reading on the procedure.”

  “HLA stands for human leukocyte antigen. They’re proteins in your body’s cells used to recognize which cells belong and which cells are invaders, such as viruses or bacteria that can make you sick. In a healthy human, the white blood cells, or leukocytes, can distinguish between the good cells and invaders and will destroy only the bad cells.”

  Connor nodded. “Right. I remember that from high school biology. And all blood cells are formed in the bone marrow.”

  Dr. Reed nodded. “Right. Savannah’s leukemia means her white blood cells aren’t developing properly, then dying off like they should. These ‘bad,’ or not properly developed, cells are crowding out the healthy blood cells—red, white and platelets— keeping them from functioning properly.”

  “So the point of a bone marrow transplant,” Darby jumped in, clearly eager to get through the explanations that had to be old news for her by now, “is to replace the tissue that is creating abnormal cells with healthy marrow that will do the job properly.”

  “But...” Connor said, turning to Dr. Reed and lifting a palm to invite her to finish.

  “But from person to person, there are numerous differences in white blood cells and the genetic codes that tell the cells what to destroy and what to leave alone. Even your matching antigens have what are called microvariants, which can be different and lead to tissue rejection.”

  With a grunt of frustration, Darby visibly wilted.

  “If your bone marrow isn’t similar enough to Savannah’s, her body will think your cells are invaders and reject them.” Dr. Reed closed the file in front of her. “That’s why we have to be sure of as close of a match as possible.”

  “How soon can we start the transplant process?” Darby asked.

  “Soon, I hope. Since Savannah just finished a round of chemo, this is an ideal time to do it.”

  “What happens next?” Connor asked.

  “I won’t go into the nitty-gritty now, but essentially, Savannah will be given a megadose of chemo to prepare her body for the new marrow. She’ll be extremely vulnerable to germs at that point, so she’ll have to stay in a sterile isolation room before, during and for a while after the procedure.”

  Connor frowned. “Isolation? Does that mean we can’t be in the room with her?”

  “We make allowances for short visits for parents as long as they are wearing proper sterile protective suits. Her room will have an observation window as well, where you can see her and she can see you. Otherwise, only authorized medical personnel in sterile gear will be allowed in with her.”

  “How long will she have to stay in the hospital?” Darby asked, voicing the question that was on the tip of Connor’s tongue. They’d always been in sync, able to finish each other’s sentences and read each other’s thoughts. Knowing they still had some small part of that connection heartened Connor.

  “Hard to say. Depending on how her body reacts to the transplant, she could stay in isolation anywhere from four to eight weeks.”

  Darby gasped. “So long?”

  Dr. Reed gave them a comforting smile. “I know it seems like a long time, but not compared to the long years we hope to give you with her if the procedure works.” Her expression sobered a bit. “Keep in mind, this is a very invasive process. We’ll need to monitor her closely for as long as it takes for her little body to rebound. But...” Her smile returned. “I have faith that she will rebound, that she’ll do well with the transplant. We wouldn’t be moving forward if I didn’t believe she was a good candidate.”

  Eight weeks? Connor swiped a hand along his chin as he mulled that news. Two months was a long time to be out of hiding, potentially exposed to the Gales’ threat. He hated the idea of Darby and his family living under the stress of that danger for so long. And yet...the two-month prediction meant he’d have eight precious weeks with Darby and the people he loved most before he had to disappear again. Was eight weeks enough time to convince Darby to come with him into WitSec? And did he have a right to tear her away from her family, her home, her life here in Lagniappe?

  Dr. Reed checked her watch. “I’m afraid I only have time for a couple more questions right now, but we’ll get into specifics in future consultations.”

  He glanced next to him and found Darby watching him, her eyes reflecting the tangle of emotions expected for a mother facing such a risky procedure for her daughter.

  “Do you have any more questions?” Darby asked him.

  Yes, he thought. How do I make you understand and forgive the choices I made? And how do I make you love me again?

  “No. Not now,” he said instead.

  Chapter 10

&nbs
p; Sitting in the driver’s seat of his Escalade, Victor Gale studied the blown-up photo of the health care workers who’d left Darby Kent’s house that morning. The guy in question had kept his head down, a cap on, his face toward the house so that his cameras didn’t get a clear shot. As if he knew cameras were capturing his every move and he’d hidden his face intentionally.

  “What do ya think, Vic?” his right-hand man, Hollister, asked. “Is it Mansfield?”

  “Can’t be sure. But my instincts say it is.” He dropped the picture on the seat beside him and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

  “What do you want to do?” Hollister asked.

  A deferral to his brother’s judgment rushed to his tongue as it always did on matters that skirted the law, but he swallowed the words like a bitter pill. He hated always bowing to James’s opinion, just because James was older and the CEO of the family company. Pop may have left James in charge of the business, but Victor knew more than James would ever know about the dark side of business, scores settled outside the boardroom.

  And James had a weakness when it came to Connor Mansfield, because Mansfield had pulled James’s son out of the swimming pool and revived him when Billy was a little tyke. In Victor’s opinion, that favor had long ago expired, but James always hedged when it came to Mansfield. Until he’d turned traitor and testified against their father.

  Still, Victor didn’t trust James to do what had to be done regarding Connor Mansfield. James could be soft when it came to his kids.

  Victor set his teeth and rocked his head from side to side, stretching the tendons in his neck. James would want proof before they took extreme measures, but in his heart, he knew the man who’d showed up at Darby Kent’s was the man who’d betrayed his family and sent Pop to prison. Screw proof. This was his call to make.

  “I know all I need to. I want Mansfield’s head on a platter.”

  Hollister raised an eyebrow. “You got it, Salome.”

  Victor glared at Hollister for his dark humor, adding, “Not literally. No grandstanding. It has to look like an accident, a random act. And I want you to be sure it’s Connor Mansfield you take out. A clean strike. Understood?”

  Hollister hiked up his chin. “I got this.”

  Victor’s gut rolled uneasily. “Be sure you do, or it’s your head that’ll be on the platter.”

  * * *

  Darby stood when Connor entered the waiting room, a gauze pad taped to his arm where they’d drawn more blood for a new set of tests in preparation for the transplant. “Well?”

  “All done for now,” he said. “They’ll be in touch once they get things set up with the hospital. She’s sending us home to wait.”

  “On pins and needles,” she added with a sigh. Rubbing her forehead where a tension headache was mounting, she glanced across the room where Savannah was coloring at a child-sized table. “Time to go, sweetie. You can bring your picture with you.”

  Savannah scurried up to them and shoved a crayon drawing at Connor. “I made this fow you. It’s a pony.”

  Connor quickly wiped the worry from his expression and shifted his attention to their daughter. Darby’s breath caught as he crouched beside Savannah, smiling, and took the picture. “And it’s a wonderful pony! Thank you, Savannah.”

  Savannah touched the bandage on his arm and above the line of her mask, her nose crinkled. “You got a needle poke?”

  “I did.”

  Savannah lifted her gaze to his, her eyes worried. “I don’t like needle pokes. They hurt.”

  Connor stroke a crooked finger along her temple. “I don’t like them, either, but sometimes the doctor has to use needle pokes so she can help you get well.”

  Savannah nodded, then her eyes grew wide. “Are you sick, too?”

  He gave Savannah a warm smile. “No. The doctor wanted to check my blood to see if I could help you get well.”

  “Can you?” she asked, her voice brightening. The hope in her daughter’s voice was heartbreaking. Not yet four years old, Savannah understood so little of what was happening to her.

  A flicker of something akin to grief shone in his eyes for an instant before he drew a breath and schooled his face. “Oh, I pray that I can, sweetie. I’m going to try.”

  “Did you cry when they poked you?”

  Connor shook his head. “No.”

  Savannah glanced up at Darby, clearly impressed, before returning her gaze to Connor.

  “Want to know what I did so I wouldn’t cry when they poked me?” he asked.

  Savannah nodded enthusiastically, and her small body canted toward him as if he were about to reveal the secret to the universe. Darby found herself holding her breath, too.

  “When they poked me, I thought about the happiest thing I could, something that makes me smile all the way to my toes.”

  Savannah’s eyes danced, and even with the mask in place, Darby knew her daughter was grinning. “What was it?”

  Connor acted surprised by the question. “Why, you, of course!”

  “Me?” Savannah blinked her wide gold eyes. A person would have to be blind not to see the similarities between the father and daughter. Darby’s chest tightened.

  Connor gave his daughter a light tug on the earlobe. “Yes, you, cutie-pie. Meeting you has made me very happy.”

  Eyes shining, Savannah turned her face toward Darby as if to ask, Did you hear that?

  “I’m gonna make you another picture!” she said, turning to dart back to the table and crayons.

  Darby caught her arm. “Hold up, Miss Priss. It’s time to go home.”

  Connor pushed to his feet, squaring his shoulders. “I’ll see you in an hour or so. Jones will follow you home same as he followed you here.”

  She blinked, startled. “Jones followed me here?”

  “He did. Just the same, take precautions going home. Stay alert, and call Jones if anything suspicious happens. Anything.” He narrowed his eyes, emphasizing that point. “You still have his number?”

  She nodded. “I entered it in my phone.”

  “Good. Be careful.”

  Darby watched him disappear down the corridor with his warning ringing in her ears. Jones had followed them to the doctor’s office without her knowing. Could there also be henchmen for the Gale family lurking nearby, unseen? As long as they were in public, they were in danger. The marshals had drilled that into her last night. A chill prickled her arms, considering the possibility, and she scooted Savannah toward the elevator, eager to get home. Connor’s return meant Savannah could get the bone marrow she needed. But at what cost to all of their lives?

  * * *

  The trip to the doctor’s office taxed Savannah’s limited strength, and even before she finished lunch, Darby could see her daughter’s eyelids droop. She tucked one of Savannah’s few wisps of dark hair behind her ear and pushed her plate away. “Are you ready for a little nap?”

  “No!” her daughter whined like any child facing bedtime. “I wanna play with Uncle Connuh.”

  “You can later,” Darby told her, scooping her into her arms and heading down the hall. Connor appeared from the bathroom where he’d been stripping off the morning’s disguise.

  “Is she all right?” he asked, his focus on Savannah.

  “Just tired. She wears out easily because of the chemo. She takes several catnaps every day.”

  “Like Toby,” Savannah said with a sleepy smile.

  “Except you’re cuter.” He gave her a wink. “Can I help?”

  Darby cocked her head in question. “Help?”

  He waved one hand toward the bedroom. “Tuck her in...or whatever you do for her naps.”

  Darby tensed, ready to refuse his offer, when Savannah raised her head from her shoulder and held a hand out to Connor. “Will you wead m
e a stowy?”

  The request clearly caught Connor by surprise, but his expression quickly softened, warmed. Melted would best describe it. “Of course, sweetie.”

  And Darby felt her heart go gooey in response. How many times had she fantasized about having Connor help tuck their daughter into bed? Of watching them play tickle or read books together? Of him carrying Savannah on his shoulders, the way her own father used to carry her...

  She shut down the memory that caused a painful spike of resentment to pierce her chest.

  “Cliffowd!” Savannah insisted, naming her favorite storybook character.

  Darby saw the spark of life in her daughter’s eyes and knew she couldn’t disappoint Savannah, even if things were still unsettled between her and Connor. “Are you familiar with Clifford, the big red dog?”

  Connor tugged his cheek up in a grin. “Absolutely. I had a Clifford book when I was a kid.”

  “And Dowa?” Savannah asked.

  Connor’s inquiring gaze drifted to Darby.

  “Dora the Explorer,” Darby clarified. “She’s another favorite. Dora teaches us how to speak Spanish.”

  “Oh.” Connor smiled at Savannah. “Buena!”

  Savannah giggled. “Buena!”

  The sound of her daughter’s laugh fluttered in Darby’s chest, a poignant reminder of the happy, active child Savannah had been before the chemo wore her down. Savannah had been a trooper through all the sickness and endless testing, but seeing Savannah’s vibrancy fade day by day broke Darby’s heart.

  She’ll be back. Once the chemo wears off and the cancer’s in remission, the old Savannah will be back, Hunter had promised not two days ago. Darby clung to that hope.

  Because the alternative was unthinkable.

  Feeling tears rise in her sinuses, Darby cleared her throat, drew a cleansing breath and bustled into Savannah’s room. She had to be brave for her daughter, couldn’t let her emotions bog her down. That’s how she’d survived her father’s leaving, Connor’s death. Shut it out, forge on. Don’t let yourself feel too much.