Shattered Lullaby

by Rebecca York

  His eyes focused on Luis and he saw the uncertainty on the youthful features. “I heard something today,” the boy said in an almost-inaudible voice.

  “Better tell me,” Miguel said gently.

  Luis swallowed. “It’s about Senorita Douglas.”

  Every cell in Miguel’s body was suddenly on the alert. “Is she in trouble?”

  The boy shook his head, looking miserable. Obviously he didn’t want to be here delivering this news. But he had come anyway, and that meant the situation was urgent.

  “What?” Miguel demanded, barely restraining himself from reaching out and digging his fingers into the kid’s shoulder. “Say it, whatever it is.”

  “I was hanging around near the offices. I heard the director talking on the phone about her to Senora Stone. He was angry.” Luis swallowed, then continued, his gaze focused on a spot somewhere over Miguel’s left shoulder. “He said she’s setting a bad example for the community.”

  “A bad example? She’s an angel. How could she set a bad example?”

  “He said—” The boy stopped, his face bright red, then whispered, “He said that she’s—she’s encinta. And she shouldn’t be working with young, impressionable girls.”

  “She is pregnant?” Miguel heard the shock in his own voice.

  “St. Senor Alvarez said people are wagging their tongues about it. Now I know why she looked so sad.”

  Miguel cursed under his breath. He knew exactly when he’d made love with Jessie. In April. Four and a half months ago. Long enough for a pregnancy to be showing. Long enough for her to have told him about it—if the child was his.

  He caught himself up short. Of course it was his!

  A lump filled the cavity of his chest as he remembered the night almost two months ago when she’d shown up at the abandoned house where he was hiding. She’d said she’d come to talk about something important, but she’d never told him what it was, and he had assumed she’d made up an excuse to contact him. Now he pictured the stricken look in her eyes when he’d made his voice hard as stone and told her that making love with her had been a mistake—implying that he’d only been using her as an outlet for his sexual needs.

  God. He had known he was hurting her by pretending he didn’t care. He hadn’t known exactly the degree of cruelty he’d wreaked on her. Of course, she hadn’t tried to get in touch with him since then; she was carrying his child, and she thought he wouldn’t give a damn.

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Where is she?”

  “Senor Alvarez said he didn’t want her at the center. Maybe they fired her.”

  “Oh, no.” All she had done was try to help, and he had betrayed her in the worst way a man could betray a woman.

  “She could be at the other office. The one on Light Street.”

  He nodded, already pulling on his shoes. It was a dangerous time for him to be on the street, but the danger was secondary now. He had to go to Jessie.

  “THERE’S A CALL FOR YOU or Jessie. It’s urgent,” Jenny Brisco said as she buzzed Erin’s line.

  “From the court?” Erin asked.

  “No, the city jail.”

  “I’d better take it,” Erin said, punching the button on the phone. “This is Erin Stone. Can I help you?”

  “This is Craig Martin at the Baltimore City Jail. We’ve, uh, we’ve had a slipup down here, and we want to notify you.”

  “About what?” Erin demanded.

  “Georgie Cota was accidentally released this afternoon.”

  “Georgie Cota. The gang leader who broke into our recreation center?”

  “Yes. You might want to put on some extra security.”

  Erin’s hand tightened on the receiver. “I can’t believe this. Are you sure?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “He was supposed to be held without bond until his trial. How was he released?”

  “We’re, uh, checking into that,” the nervous voice on the other end of the line related.

  “Maybe you want to station an officer at the center,” Erin suggested.

  “You’ll have to speak to the police about that.”

  “Yes, well, thanks for the information.” She hung up and reached for the phone again, hoping she could get in touch with Jessie, warn her to be careful.

  Fifteen frustrating minutes later she learned that Jessie had probably left the courthouse. They thought she was on her way back to work, but they weren’t positive.

  MIGUEL CALLED IN A FAVOR and borrowed a van that had been brought in for repairs to the Fells Point gas station where Bernardo Contrares worked. The owner of the vehicle had been short of cash and had left it taking up space in the crowded parking area behind the station.

  “Sure, you can borrow it,” Bernardo told him. “Just bring it back in good shape.”

  “Don’t worry,” he replied, skidding out of the lot and heading for the garage across the alley from where Jessie worked.

  After finding a parking space, he took the back elevator to the third-floor offices of the Light Street Foundation. When he stepped into the waiting room, he found a short dark-haired woman pacing back and forth.

  Her head jerked up when the door opened, her expression hopeful. It changed to disappointment when she saw him.

  “I’m looking for Jessie Douglas,” he said.

  Her eyes narrowed as she gave him a more thorough inspection. “You’re too old to be one of Los Tigres. Why are you looking for Jessie?” she inquired.

  He had become skilled in evading answers to direct questions. “I need to find her,” he said carefully.

  “Why?” The clipped syllable gave away the woman’s tension, and he realized evasion wouldn’t work.

  “Did she talk to you about Miguel Diego?” he asked.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Are you Diego?”

  He gave a tight nod.

  “I told myself I’d choke you if I ever came face-to-face with you. Now I don’t have the time.”

  “You know,” he said simply.

  “Of course I know! She’s my friend. And I also know that the city jail called an hour ago to warn her that Georgie Cota, the leader of Los Tigres, was released by accident.”

  He felt the hairs on his arms stand on end. “The one who attacked Jessie when she came down to help me? The one who was waiting for her at the center?”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed. “You know about that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you break her heart?” she asked suddenly.

  He swore. “I thought I was protecting her.”

  She looked startled, and he knew that Jessie hadn’t talked about his background.

  “From what?”

  “From the man who is trying to kill me. People who get close to me tend to end up dead,” he said in an even voice, giving away too much. At the moment, it didn’t seem to matter.

  “I didn’t know. I... Maybe I misjudged you.”

  Again, he found himself explaining. “I learned about the baby today. I came to tell Jessie I love her, that I would never have left her on her own if I had known.”

  “Yes. She needs to hear that.” To his surprise, the woman held out her hand, and he took it. She cleared her throat. “I’m Erin Stone. If you could help me find Jessie, I’d be very relieved. She isn’t at the courthouse—where she went a couple of hours ago. And she didn’t go home. I left a message on her answering machine there, but I’m hoping she comes back here. We’ve got to get her off the streets until they take Georgie into custody again.”

  Well, he knew all about hiding, but he wasn’t sure where to start looking. “I will get the people in the neighborhood searching for her.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Erin volunteered.

  “No. You stay here in case she comes back. Keep her in the office, and tell the police. I’ll check with you as soon as I can.”

  She raised her hand toward him, touched his arm. “We’ll find her.”

  “Yes,” he answered, but his hands cle
nched in frustration. Maybe this was his punishment for what he had done to the woman he loved. Before Erin could see the depth of his anguish, he turned and hurried out of the office, his mind already working on the problem of Georgie Cota. Would the bastard stop to catch his breath after his escape from the law, or would he go after Jessie the moment he had his freedom? Miguel didn’t know. His only option was to get to Jessie first, he thought as he waited impatiently for the elevator to arrive.

  It appeared to be stuck on a lower floor. With an angry curse, he headed for the back stairs and took them at a driving pace. In one fluid motion, he sprinted from the stairwell to the back door of the building, not even sure where he was going, where he would look, how he would protect his woman.

  He spotted her as soon as he ducked under the cement ledge. She was getting out of a blue Dodge.

  As she turned toward the exit, he was granted a split second of relief. “Jessie!”

  She looked up, saw him, stopped in midstride, her face registering shock at his sudden reappearance in her life.

  “Querida.” His heart was threatening to pound its way through his chest as he took a step toward her, wondering what she would say, what she would do when the look of shock faded.

  But he never reached her. From the shadows, a flurry of orange-and-black-clad bodies converged on her, surrounded her, pushed her back into the car.

  Chapter Eleven

  He stopped dead, uncertain what to do. Every instinct urged him to leap forward, to throw himself at the car. But he couldn’t stop a speeding vehicle with his body; he’d only get run over, and Georgie would make a clean getaway—with Jessie.

  Jessie. His heart was pumping so wildly in his chest that he could hardly breathe as he pivoted and sprinted toward the borrowed van.

  Jumping inside, he gunned the engine, planning to cut the car off before it could exit the garage. But he was too late. Or maybe Georgie had figured out his intentions. The car did a wild turn like a vehicle hitting a patch of ice.

  Miguel slammed on his brakes and held his breath, praying that the car would crash against one of the concrete posts so he could get to the driver. When the vehicle spun in the opposite direction, he cursed, and cursed again as it shot the wrong way out of the entrance ramp, narrowly missing a Camaro that was about to turn into the garage.

  All Miguel could do was follow, probably giving the Camaro’s driver a second heart attack as he hurtled by, the paint on the two vehicles almost exchanging colors.

  Unfazed, Georgie barreled down Light Street, turned left at Pratt, heading for the neighborhood, Miguel supposed, as he kept pace with the fugitives. The van didn’t have as much power as the car, or as much maneuverability. But for once the rush-hour traffic was a blessing. It slowed Georgie down, and Miguel was able to slip through a light that turned red, thanking Providence that there were no traffic cops on the scene.

  As they made a quick turn onto Princess Street, he studied the car and its occupants. He could detect only three people inside. Jessie sat rigidly between Georgie and another man.

  When Miguel imagined her terror, his hands clenched convulsively on the wheel as if they were closing around Georgie’s scrawny neck. Yet his anger was as much for himself as for the gang leader. Jessie’s problems had started when she had come to his room to help him. He had brought this one on her, and he would save her now or die trying.

  Did she know he was right behind her? “Jessie, I’m coming,” he chanted, trying to send her a telepathic message. He doubted she was receiving it, but it helped him to keep saying it anyway. God, if he lost her now, he would go insane.

  No. He couldn’t think that way. He would get her back. That was the only option. But at least he knew Georgie was worried. He could see the bastard’s eyes constantly flicking to the rearview mirror.

  Miguel’s foot pressed the accelerator to the floorboards, and he gained another few yards on the Dodge. Ahead of him, tires squealed as the car turned onto a side street lined with abandoned warehouses where there was almost no traffic, and Miguel cursed as he realized he was going to lose them if they picked up any more speed.

  Again Georgie was watching his rear, not the road ahead. Too late, he snapped his attention back to his driving and had to turn the wheel sharply to the right to keep from hitting a ruined tire lying in the street His front wheel went up on the curb, and Miguel took advantage of the precarious position to pull alongside them, crowding the Dodge farther onto the sidewalk.

  He looked toward Georgie, and their eyes locked with the hatred of mortal enemies. The two were so focused on each other, that neither of them saw the low pile of boxes ahead on the sidewalk until the front end of the car was almost engulfed.

  Georgie slammed on the brakes, but it was too late to stop. The Dodge struck the barrier with a shattering crash, slowing momentarily. Perhaps he thought he could plow through like a stunt driver in an action/adventure movie. Unfortunately for him, the boxes hadn’t been put there by an accommodating movie crew. On the other side was a concrete barrier. The car struck it, and jolted to a halt.

  Heart in his throat, Miguel was out of the van even before the vehicle had come to a complete stop. Dashing to the car, he grabbed the handle and pulled the driver’s door open. Georgie was leaning over the wheel; Jessie was on the floor below the seat. The other gang member had flown forward and struck the windshield with his head.

  Georgie looked dazed—probably still trying to comprehend what had happened. It seemed, however, that he was functioning well enough to reach for a gun he’d slipped onto the floor near his left foot. Before the weapon came into firing position, Miguel leaped forward. They struggled, but the younger man was in no condition for hand-to-hand combat.

  Miguel wrenched the gun from his grasp. For a split second, blinding rage almost swept away his sanity and he came close to shooting the bastard at point-blank range. But somehow, rationality prevailed. He had to get Jessie away from here. That was the important thing.

  Instead of shooting Georgie, he brought the butt of the revolver down on his head, punctuating the blow with a oath. Before the gang leader could slump forward over the wheel again, Miguel pushed him onto the sidewalk, then dived into the car.

  “Jessie?”

  She didn’t answer. Tenderly, .carefully, he scooped her up.

  She made a tenified sound when she felt his hands on her, and he soothed her with reassuring words as he lifted her from the car.

  “Miguel?” She blinked at him.

  “Yes. I have you. Everything’s all right now.”

  To his relief, she relaxed against him.

  He wanted to make sure she was uninjured. But not here. Somewhere in the distance he could hear police sirens. Maybe they weren’t headed in this direction, but he couldn’t take a chance. All he knew was that he had to get her away from the scene of the accident before the cops started asking questions.

  “Miguel. Thank God,” she whispered.

  Cradling her in his arms, he hurried back to the van, part of his mind registering astonishment that he hadn’t bashed the fender when he’d screeched to a halt He gave a short, barking laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” Jessie asked in a shaky voice.

  “I was thinking that maybe I’ll get this vehicle back to the gas station in one piece after all.”

  Opening the passenger door, he laid her carefully on the middle seat. “Do you feel okay?” he asked.

  She nodded uncertainly, her hand going to her head.

  He moved her fingers aside and probed the spot. There was a slight bump but no bleeding. “Did you black out when the car crashed?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “That is good,” he said with heartfelt relief. Very good. It was unlikely that she had a concussion.

  Moments later he was back in the driver’s seat and heading down the block at a pace that wouldn’t get him arrested. Jessie was still huddled on the middle seat when he pulled into the alley behind the row house. He lifted her into
his arms again and took her to the basement apartment.

  If ever he was granted a normal life, he’d build a house without a basement, he thought as he shifted her weight so that he could find his keys.

  Inside the one room, he laid her on the low bed. He wanted to stay with her, hold her, check her condition. But it was much too dangerous to leave the van like a beacon in the alley.

  “Will you be all right for a few minutes?” he asked. “I cannot park by the back door. If Georgie sends Los Tigres looking for the van, they will find us.”

  “Yes. I understand,” she whispered.

  He would have liked to take the vehicle back to the gas station where it belonged—where no one but Bernardo would know it had been missing. That would be safest. But he wouldn’t leave Jessie for that long. He settled for moving the van into a garage he knew was empty on the next block.

  He ran all the way back, his breath coming in gasps as he stepped into the room. Jessie was lying on her back, staring at the ceiling, her hand flattened over the small mound of her abdomen. The hand jumped away when she heard him, but their eyes met, and he knew she knew he had seen the protective gesture.

  He’d been so focused on rescue, that he hadn’t thought about the reason he’d sought her out in the first place. Now he stared at the evidence of her condition. She was carrying his child. The realization slammed into him with enough impact to knock the breath from his lungs.

  She sat up and turned, her features taut. He came down on his knees beside her, gathered her close, feeling fine tremors racing across her skin as she let her head sink to his shoulder.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Shaky,” she murmured.

  “You are safe here,” he murmured, his hands stroking over her back, his lips moving over her hair. He wanted to turn her face, find her mouth, kiss her until both of them were gasping for breath. Instead he simply held her.