by Julie Miller
She tried to open the center drawer next, but it was locked. Remembering her long steel knitting needles, she pulled one from her purse and wedged it between the drawer and desk, twisting and jabbing until something tripped inside and she could slide the drawer open. “Victory.”
Setting the needle on top of the desk, she opened it wide to find some loose change and dollar bills, along with a calculator and a tablet computer. She was about to close the drawer again when she spotted the corner of what looked like a blurry photograph poking out from beneath the tablet. But when she pulled the paper free, she discovered the torn-up squares of an ultrasound printout that had been carefully taped back together. Her gaze went straight to the numbers and letters printed at the bottom. Baby Kozlow. Proof.
She found another photograph underneath the mended printout. Unlike the grainy ultrasound, the image on this one was crystal clear. “Oh, no. Oh, God no.”
It was a photograph of a pregnant Diana standing with the man who’d been so violently murdered in the warehouse. Antony Staab. He had his arm around her shoulders, his straight white teeth beaming against his olive skin. They were dressed up in this photo—suit and tie, maternity dress. Diana stood with her hands cradled beneath her heavy belly. But she wasn’t looking at the camera. And she wasn’t smiling. Was the dead man the father of her baby? Were the police right? Had Diana surrendered her baby to Lucy to keep him from this man who stole her smile? Had she killed Antony Staab in self-defense? Were those Diana’s footprints that Niall had photographed at the scene of that so-called altercation?
She needed to show this to Niall and Keir. Diana worked here, maybe in past tense. But she definitely had a connection to Staab Imports. And now Niall would have a name and a whole dead body he could use to find answers. He could prove to his meticulous satisfaction that Tommy’s father was the dead man in the warehouse.
Lucy stuffed the printout and photo into her purse and closed the drawer. But she jumped at the bell ringing above the door and snatched up her knitting needle as if she could defend herself with so simple a weapon.
Her racing heart stuttered a beat, and she stumbled back into the rolling chair when a stocky, black-haired man wearing jeans and a leather jacket stepped into the office. Just like the dead man.
“You... How...?”
“What are you doing in my office?” The man asked the question in a crisp foreign accent. “Who are you? Why are you going through my things?”
“Your things?” He didn’t strike her as the flowers and glitz type. But she was shocked enough that she could do little more than parrot his accusatory questions.
“I know they are not yours.”
How could a man be alive and dead at the same time? “Who are you?”
He advanced to the opposite edge of the desk, glanced down at the knitting needle she wielded like a sword, then looked back at her. His angular features were harsher, more lined than the quick glimpses she remembered from the hospital.
“I am Mickey Staab. Mikhail. I own this place.” Did he know Diana? She’d need more proof to convince Niall, but she was certain these were her foster daughter’s things. “I asked, what are you doing here? You are trespassing on private property.”
Mickey, not Antony. A brother? Cousin? Her breath unlocked from her chest as a rational explanation kicked in. “I’m Lucy McKane. The police told me to wait in here.” She pulled the needle down to her side and summoned her compassion. “There’s a dead man in your warehouse. Niall—Dr. Watson, the medical examiner—said his name is Antony Staab. Is he a relative of yours?”
The man’s predatory demeanor changed in a heartbeat. The harsh lines beside his eyes softened.
“Anton?” He collapsed in a chair on the far side of the desk. He dropped his face into his hands. He shrugged his shoulders as if in disbelief before he looked up at her again. “He is my brother. Was my brother.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Anton is dead?”
“Murdered, actually. I’m so sorry, Mr. Staab.”
“Murdered? When the police came to my house about someone breaking into the warehouse, I had no idea they meant...” He signed a cross over his head and heart and muttered something in his native language. Then he pushed to his feet. “How? Who did this?”
“That’s what the detectives and ME on the scene are trying to figure out.”
He paced the small office twice before stopping across from her again. “You’re no detective. Why are you here?”
She supposed anger was a normal response to grief, but Lucy wasn’t exactly feeling her stubborn, independent self right now. She slid a step toward Tommy, feeling the need to protect as well as the need to be closer to an ally—even one only a few weeks old. “I’m a witness.”
“A witness? You saw someone breaking into my warehouse?” His hands curled into fists before he pointed toward the warehouse. “You saw this...killing...happen?”
“I’m not a witness to the murder. But I met the victim. It’s a long story.” Lucy picked up her purse and stuck the knitting needle inside, checking on Tommy as she stooped down. His arms and legs were stretched with tension, a sure indication that he was probably filling his diaper or hungry again. Please don’t cry, munchkin. She sent the telepathic plea before she quickly straightened. “Maybe you’d better talk to the police before I say anything I shouldn’t.”
“Yes, I will talk to them. I know who is responsible.” He was pacing again, his cheeks ruddy with temper. “That witch. She was no good. I knew she would be trouble. I told Anton to stay away from her.”
Lucy tried not to bristle too much at the insults to the woman she was almost certain was Diana. “The police think there could have been a robbery. There was certainly a fight of some kind.”
“A robbery?” The pacing stopped, and he crossed to the safe behind the desk. “She knew the combination. I wouldn’t put it past her—”
Tommy cried out from his makeshift bed, and Mickey Staab halted. His dark, nearly black eyes narrowed with a frown as he glanced down at her feet. “You have a baby here?”
“Yes, he’s...” Tommy mewled softly, his discontent growing. When Mikhail squatted down as if to touch him, Lucy quickly bent to scoop the infant up into her arms and circle to the far side of the desk. He couldn’t belittle the mother and then expect to be all coochie-coo with the child. “His name is Tommy.”
“Tommy?”
“Yes.”
“A boy? You have a son?” He followed them around the desk, smiling, in awe of the baby he’d discovered, it seemed.
Tommy’s fussy cries grew in duration and decibels. Despite Lucy’s cooing words and massaging his back, he was probably picking up on the tension she was feeling. “He’s very precious to me.”
“You are a lucky woman.” Mickey Staab palmed the top of Tommy’s head, touching without asking. Lucy cringed away. “Who is his father?”
Suddenly, a tall, stern Clark Kent wannabe filled the open doorway. “If you have any questions, you ask me.” Lucy exhaled an audible gasp of relief as Niall took Tommy into his arms and angled his shoulder between her and the business owner. She wasn’t even jealous that the baby calmed down at the sound of his voice. She was glad to see him, too. “I’m Dr. Niall Watson, KCPD crime lab. Are you Mr. Staab?”
Backing out of her personal space now that Niall was here, the shorter man answered. The momentary joy he’d shown at discovering a baby disappeared beneath a resigned facade. “Yes. The victim is my brother, Anton?”
“That’s what his driver’s license says.” Niall nodded to the door. “There’s a Detective Keir Watson in the warehouse. He’ll need you to make a positive identification of your brother.” He inclined his head toward Hud Kramer, waiting outside the door. “Detective Kramer will show you where to go.”
Mickey Staab hesit
ated, looking at the baby before giving Niall a curt nod. “You are a lucky man.” He leaned to one side to include Lucy. “And a fortunate woman. Congratulations.” He was almost out the door when he paused to slide his hands into the pockets of his jacket and face them. “Do you always bring your family to the scene of a murder?”
“We’re not exactly—”
Niall cut her off and motioned Hud into the room. “Detective Kramer?”
Hud’s grin was friendly enough, but the broad span of his shoulders and muscular arms crossed over his chest indicated he could be very persuasive if he needed to be. “This way, Mr. Staab.”
After the two men had disappeared, Niall pushed the door shut and turned Lucy in to his chest. He wrapped his arm around her, holding both her and the baby. “Hud said you were having a conversation with some man he didn’t recognize, and I just needed to see that you...” His chest expanded against her cheek with a deep breath. “I thought it might be Roger Campbell paying another unwanted visit. That he’d followed you.”
“I’m okay, Niall.” She wound her arms around his waist and willingly snuggled close to his strength. “I needed to see you, too.”
“Did Staab frighten you?”
Lucy nodded against his chest. “He’s understandably upset. And normally, I could deal with that. But he looks just like his brother—like that dead man. For a minute, I thought I was seeing a ghost. The two of them could be twins.”
“He’s a ringer, all right.” She felt his lips stirring against her hairline. “I’m sorry he scared you. Kramer shouldn’t have left you alone.”
“I’m better now—just hearing your voice, feeling your warmth around me...” Smiling at the fleeting sense of security this man instilled in her, Lucy reached up to touch the baby. “I’m as bad as Tommy. You have the same effect on both of us.”
“It’ll be another thirty minutes or so before I’m finished with the body. Do you want me to have Hud or one of the other officers drive you back to the apartment?”
“No. I don’t want to be that far from you. Besides, someone has to stand up for Diana before everyone around here railroads her into a murder charge.”
“There’s a difference between exploring all the possibilities and—”
“Wait.” Lucy pushed away, remembering her discovery from a few minutes earlier. She scooped up her purse and pulled out the wrinkled printout and photo she’d found. “Look at these. I found them inside the desk. And this is Diana’s handwriting on the calendar. I think she must have worked here. And the ultrasound has to be Tommy.”
“So she definitely knew Antony Staab.”
“I’m sure they drove away from the hospital together in the same truck.”
“You were nearly unconscious—”
“No. Look.” Enough with the skepticism. She was giving him the facts he wanted. She crossed to the office’s front door and pointed to the logo on the window. “This is what I saw on the side of the truck. Staab Imports. We have to find out if their company uses orange-red trucks. And you have to do that blood sample thing on the body so you can prove Antony is the father. And then we can find out who else might have wanted him dead.”
“No.” Nodding in that sage way of his, Niall joined her at the door and slipped the baby into her arms. “I have to find out. You stay here with Tommy. Lock this behind me so you don’t have any more surprise guests. I’ll have Keir wait to check the safe until after we leave. I’ll figure out how all this connects to Diana’s disappearance.”
“She didn’t kill Anton,” Lucy insisted.
“Right now, I can’t state anything conclusively. But I’m willing to work with that hypothesis.”
“Niall?” Slipping her fingers behind his neck, Lucy stretched up on her toes. The moment she touched his lips, his mouth moved over hers in a firm, thorough, far too brief kiss.
“Feeling raw inside?” he asked as she dropped back onto her heels and pulled away.
Lucy smiled, wondering if the smart guy would ever figure out how much she loved him. Whoa. The rawness inside her eased as the revelation filled her. This wasn’t just a crush or an alliance. This was way more than friendship or gratitude. “Not so much anymore.” Still, the truth was bittersweet. She tried not to wonder if Niall was capable of comprehending that kind of love, much less whether he could ever feel that way about her. “Go. Find the truth. We’ll be waiting here for you.”
Chapter Nine
Lucy buttoned up a cable-knit cardigan over her jeans and T-shirt and slipped on a warm pair of socks before unwrapping her hair from the towel she’d worn since stepping out of the shower. She hung the dark blue towel up beside Niall’s and picked up her wide-tooth comb to carefully pull it through her damp hair. The swelling on her head wound had gone away, although the colorful bruise and stitches in her hairline still made her think she looked a bit like a prizefighter.
She was losing track of the days since Niall had taken her in, and making herself so at home in his bathroom made her feel as though she was living out some kind of domestic dream. Or maybe it was more like living in an alternate universe with a strong, supportive man and a sweet little baby and all the extended family and security that went with it.
Because this wasn’t her life. The Watsons and Tommy weren’t her family. Niall wasn’t her husband or fiancé or even her boyfriend.
She was the eccentric neighbor lady who talked too much and butted into other people’s business and couldn’t have babies of her own.
Even though her door had been repaired and her locks were secure, Lucy was reluctant to go back to her apartment. She wasn’t ready to leave this fantasy life behind. But other than insisting that he wanted to keep an eye on her and Tommy until Diana was found and her link to Antony Staab had been resolved, Niall hadn’t asked her to stay. Not for any personal reason.
And somehow, she suspected that blurting out her love for him would either confuse him or scare him away. There was a little part of her, too, that hoped if she never said the words out loud that the handsome cop doctor who’d righted her world time and again couldn’t really break her heart when this alliance between them ended.
She watched her face contort with a big yawn. She still had a ways to go to adapt to the long, late hours Niall kept. Although she and Tommy had dozed on and off in his office down at the crime lab while he performed an autopsy on Antony Staab, she was exhausted this morning. She’d called in sick at work, blaming some lingering aftereffects of her injury for her fatigue. Perhaps it was better, though, if they remained ships that passed in the hallway or laundry room in the late hours of the night or early morning. That was the kind of advice her mother had given her.
“Don’t you go givin’ your heart and time to any man, Lucy, honey. Not until he puts a ring on your finger. Or you’ll be paying the rest of your life.”
Her mother had been talking about the financial difficulties that had motivated every decision Lucy could remember. But she was far more worried about the emotional toll it would cost her to reveal her feelings to a man who struggled to comprehend the human heart. He’d find a way to dismiss the irrationality of such feelings, or maybe he’d decide there was no logical way a quiet intellectual like him, from a tight family and a good home, could embrace a lasting relationship with a woman like her. Lucy knew that Niall was attracted to her physically—that crazy talent for kissing he had gave that away. But she had enough experience with her mother’s peccadilloes to know that sexual attraction didn’t equate to emotional commitment and long-term happiness. And Lucy wasn’t going to settle for anything less.
Still, he was irresistible. She realized just how far gone she was on Niall Watson when she walked into the living room and found him sitting in the recliner with Tommy. The man needed a shave after his shift at the lab. His rich, dark hair stuck up in unruly spikes above his black-framed glasse
s. The wrinkled blue Oxford shirt that should have completed the brainy scientist look clung to broad shoulders and strong biceps in a way that was anything but nerdy. The baby was nestled securely in the crook of one arm. Tommy looked up between big blinks to the deep, drowsy timbre of Niall’s voice.
“And so your daddy’s name was Antony Staab.” Niall ran his finger along the page inside the folder he was holding. “These pictures are markers, which is how we visually code DNA to identify people and find out if they’re related. This is your code. See them side by side? These patterns show all the alleles you have in common.”
Longing aside, Lucy couldn’t help but grin as she picked up the empty bottle and burp rag from the table beside the recliner. “You’re reading him a DNA report for a nap-time story? He can barely see colors yet.”
“You said he liked hearing the sound of my voice.” That she had. “Theoretically, I should be able to read him anything and it would have the same effect.”
“Theoretically?”
“Practically, then. We don’t have any children’s books.”
Truth be told, Lucy could listen to him read from a grocery list or phone book and that deep, fluid voice would make her pulse hum. “Point made, Dr. Watson.” The big blinks had won. She pointed to the child snoring softly in his arms. “You put him to sleep.”
Niall set the report aside and carried Tommy to his bassinet, where he gently placed him and covered him with a blanket. He rested one hand on the butt of the gun he wore holstered at his hip while Lucy looked down at the open report. “So it’s true? Antony Staab is Tommy’s father?” She read through the summary at the bottom of the page and studied the graphs and statistics she didn’t fully understand. “Do you think Diana is all right? Or did she get hurt in that fight with Antony?”