Bringing Baby Home Read online

  “New Zealand.” She put the middle finger of her right hand up to her mouth and nibbled on what he assumed was a broken nail. “A friend of mine taught me self-defense and in return I did physical therapy on her shoulder. She’d been knifed as a teen. The tendons never healed quite right.”

  David knew there was more to the story but he didn’t ask. They’d already reached the traffic bumps on her street and his tools in the back—along with the bike—rattled loudly. Liz flinched and pulled into a protective posture.

  “We’re here. Your place. You should be safe now.” Unless the kid next door had something else on his mind. David planned to find out, after he helped Liz get settled. He didn’t like bullies. And even though getting involved went against the basic code he’d adopted when he’d started his new life, David couldn’t run the risk that the brat across the fence might be plotting some kind of revenge on the woman who’d refused to be terrorized by him.

  HALF AN HOUR LATER, David was still sitting in Liz’s living room. He’d walked her to her door, and had planned to disappear as soon as she was safely in the hands of her roommates, but when the two, highly excitable, non-English-speaking women appeared on the porch, he hadn’t been given that option.

  “You. Come in,” the taller said, her tone less a command than a hopeful request.

  “She need you,” the shorter added.

  He’d always been a sucker for a woman in need. Hell, he’d married one, right? He’d known from the start that Kay wasn’t in love with him. He’d naively assumed that those kinds of feelings would grow between them. But they hadn’t. Not really. Respect. Admiration. Friendship had blossomed. And their mutual devotion to the children had soldered their bond—for a while.

  But love? He wasn’t sure he even knew what that was.

  “These are my roommates, Lydia and Reezira,” Liz said, pointing to the tall one first. “This is David. He saved my life.”

  David tried to explain that that was an exaggeration, but neither of the pair seemed to get his meaning.

  “I make tea,” Reezira said.

  “Taste bad. You like,” Lydia added.

  As they disappeared into the kitchen, which seemed to be just on the other side of the far wall of the living room where Liz was leading him. “If you have to run, don’t worry about the tea. The girls love brewing it, even though they add so much sugar I nearly gag. Still, it’s better than the sodas they’d seemed addicted to when they first got here.”

  “I’ll stay a minute,” David said, looking around as he sat down. Simple, uncluttered yet cozy. The decor had a personal feel. He was pretty sure nothing on the walls had been purchased to appease someone else’s idea of style. This was all Liz.

  “I get the impression you’re ambivalent about calling the police. Can I ask why?”

  “We Romani don’t have the best working relationship with law enforcement,” Liz said rubbing at the abrasion on her knee. Red, but not bleeding. “Comes from centuries of being picked on, I guess. All I know is my first inclination is to call my cousin Gregor. He has connections all over town. He could probably find those brats and put the fear of God in them, but that might only serve to escalate the bad feelings they have about the Romani.”

  “You’re right. Disciplining bad behavior in teens isn’t your job. Sometimes professional help is needed. What if harassing joggers is the first step toward becoming rapists?” he asked. Her flinch was too obvious to miss. Something had happened to her before this incident. Something he probably didn’t want to know about.

  “Hey, I’m not a big fan of the police, either, but this is the kind of problem they have the means and authority to handle.”

  Her roommates returned at that moment, each carrying an oversized mug. “No cops,” Lydia said, in her heavily accented voice. She set her mug on the side table next to David.

  “No good,” Reezira chimed in, giving her cup to Liz.

  Both were slim with wavy dark hair that fell almost to the waist. Their gaunt cheeks gave them a waifish look that many men probably found attractive. David preferred Liz’s toned muscles and nicely rounded physique.

  “Ban…bon…bondage,” Reezira declared. She seemed a bit timid, but her concern for Liz’s injured knee was obvious. She dashed away only to return a moment later with a box of adhesive strips and a plastic bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

  Liz let the young woman attend to the wound then she asked Lydia to hand her the portable phone. David couldn’t make out the conversation because a puffy beige cat distracted him.

  The animal didn’t seem to have limbs; it was a slow-moving tank of fluff.

  “Baby,” Lydia said, picking up the beast, which had to weigh at least ten pounds. She buried her nose in the animal’s fur and her whole face disappeared for a minute. “More tea?”

  David hadn’t tried it. He picked up the mug, which proclaimed, “Life is too short to dance with ugly men.” His grin made it hard to drink. But he did. A large gulp. The powerful combination of minty sweetness brought to mind a candy he remembered eating at the movie theater with his dad.

  He took a second swallow then said, “I’m good. Thanks. I should be going.”

  Liz, who was sitting in a navy blue recliner across the room from him, returned the phone to the end table and said, “Um…I hate to ask, but could you wait till my mom gets here? That was her on the phone. She wants to meet you. She loves a hero.”

  He’d waited long enough. That sixth sense of his that had kept him out of harm’s way for four years was telling him to leave. Now.

  “Well, that’s not me.” He stood up and turned to leave just as the doorbell rang.

  Liz bolted to her feet. “They’re here.”

  They? Already? How was that possible?

  “Mom and Zeke were only a block away when I called. I’d forgotten that they’d planned an early dinner with my sister Kate and her fiancé at the Hyatt Regency Lake Las Vegas. They’d just finished when Mom got a feeling that I was in trouble. It’s a Gypsy thing.”

  Gypsy? My God, she was serious about that?

  Two people walked into the room. The woman, who—after hugging her daughter—advanced on him with a wide smile and friendly look in her eyes was definitely Liz’s mother. Elegant. Dignified. Almost regal. She paused a foot away to scrutinize him with a frankness that made him squirm inwardly. But it was the man who followed a step behind that set off an alarm so loud David was surprised no one else could hear it.

  Cop? Police? FBI? The guy belonged to some branch of law enforcement; he’d bet his life on it.

  Damn. Why didn’t I leave when I had the chance?

  Liz kept the introduction short. “Yetta and Zeke, meet David. My knight-errant.”

  “David, it’s very nice to meet you. Thank you for helping my daughter,” Yetta Radonovic said. She shook David’s hand firmly, and then turned to her daughter. “Are you okay, dearest?”

  “Scrape on the knee. My neck is a little sore, but nothing a hot bath won’t fix.”

  “Let me see.”

  Liz submitted to her mother’s gentle ministrations because she knew there was no way to avoid them. She’d always believed that her leanings toward the medical field had stemmed from the time she’d spent at her mother’s side—both in the herb garden and on visits to family members who’d needed help or were in pain.

  “I’m fine, Mom. Honest. But I wouldn’t be if David hadn’t arrived when he did. The little brats had more energy than me.”

  “How old?” Zeke asked.

  Although Liz might have preferred to discuss this matter alone—without presence of the police—that hadn’t been an option since Zeke had been driving the car when Liz called Yetta.

  “Early teens?” she postulated, looking at David for confirmation. “What’s wrong with my mind? When I try to draw the whole thing up, all I can see are black hats and three pimply chins.”

  “Take your time,” Zeke said, sitting down only after Yetta chose a spot on the sofa. “It’
ll come back to you.”

  “More like fifteen, sixteen,” David said. “The biggest of the three was pretty hefty. Hundred and fifty pounds, maybe.”

  Zeke pulled a small, lined notebook out of the pocket of his black Windbreaker. The look he gave David was professional and…just a little intimidating. “Who are you again?”

  Liz suddenly realized that Zeke would recognize David’s name the minute he said it out loud because of the license plate search she’d asked him to run. Damn. She didn’t want David to know she’d been investigating him. Not only did that sound intrusive, it made her look desperate. Or wacko.

  “A friend,” she said. “A very resourceful friend who was at the right place at the right time.”

  “Actually, I arrived too late to be much help. Liz already had the little hoodlums running home to their mommies. One of them was in such a hurry he left his bike behind. It’s in the back of my truck. And I could be wrong, but,” he hesitated before adding, “I think it belongs to the kid next door.”

  Liz let out an audible gasp. He was right. No wonder the boy looked familiar. Liz had seen him half a dozen times, although never as close up as this afternoon.

  “Oh, my God,” she exclaimed. “I didn’t make the connection. That’s how he knew I was Rom.”

  The realization sickened her. Her neighbors were bigots.

  She had to force herself to focus on the discussion that followed. David’s understanding nod almost brought her to tears. She knew he wasn’t comfortable and wanted to leave. Badly. And her intuition told her Zeke was to blame. Even though no one had mentioned his profession, she’d noticed that Lydia and Reezira had made themselves scarce the moment the policeman walked in.

  “Zeke, this isn’t David’s problem. I’ll get the bike then we can decide how to handle things with Crissy, okay?”

  She led the way to the door. Once they were outside on the porch where only a few hours earlier they’d shared a glass of tea, she said, “I’m sorry you wound up involved in this, but thanks for everything.”

  He had a serious look on his face. “You’re a brave woman, Liz. But a word of advice—be extra nice to yourself the next few days. Post-traumatic stress syndrome and all that.”

  Although his demeanor was casual Liz heard genuine concern in his tone. She knew about P.T.S.S. and wondered if Davis’s knowledge came from experience. But she didn’t ask for details. “Good advice. Hopefully this won’t start some kind of neighborhood war.”

  She followed him to the truck and watched him lift the bicycle from the back. He rolled it to her. “If they’re any kind of parents, they’ll want to do what’s best for the kid. He’s obviously got some problems and getting this out in the open right now might save him a lot of grief down the road.”

  “Yeah, the big if. The boy is Crissy’s stepson. I don’t think he and Crissy get along very well, but that’s just the impression I got from something one of my other neighbors said.”

  He nodded and his funny mustache wiggled slightly telling her he was smiling. “I got the same impression earlier today when I saw the kid leave the house. Hopefully the boy’s dad will step in and do the right thing.”

  She wasn’t going to hold her breath, but maybe Zeke could persuade the man.

  David walked around the truck, but didn’t open the door. “I have a big order to fill for a greenhouse so I probably won’t be around for a couple of days, but I have your card. If it’s okay, I’ll call you tomorrow to find out how everything went.”

  She nodded. “Sure.”

  He was parked directly under the streetlight. When he glanced at her neighbor’s house, he said, “Don’t let them intimidate you. If they give you any grief or don’t believe your side of the story, I’d be happy to have a few…um…words with the kid.”

  A shiver passed down her spine. There was nothing intimidating in his words or tone, but she knew that was one talk Crissy’s stepson would never forget.

  She watched his taillights bounce over the speed bumps then disappear out of sight.

  After a fortifying lecture from her mother and Zeke, Liz accompanied the detective next door. Although she would have preferred to file a complaint and let the police handle it, Yetta had convinced Liz that she wouldn’t feel a sense of closure unless she participated in the meeting.

  “Is this your son’s bike?” Liz asked when Crissy opened the door.

  “Oh, my gosh, you found it. I just called in a report to the police. Eli said he forgot his lock and someone stole it while he was in the library.”

  “The library?” Liz choked.

  Crissy frowned and looked from Liz to Zeke. “Who are you? What’s going on?”

  Zeke showed his badge and asked if they could speak with her and her husband.

  “I guess so. What’s this about?”

  “Is your son home?”

  “No. He’s spending the night with a friend.”

  Zeke didn’t say anything, but his serious demeanor obviously unnerved Crissy. She ushered them inside and pointed toward the scrupulously neat living room. “Have a seat. Elijah’s in the den.”

  Eli? Elijah, Junior?

  Crissy returned moments later with a six-foot version of the boy who had started this whole debacle. Once the two were seated and introductions had been made, Zeke described the events of the evening.

  “No way. Not Eli,” Crissy’s husband roared. The look he gave Liz clearly called her a liar. She had no doubt where his son’s antipathy stemmed from.

  “Are you sure it was Eli, Liz?” Crissy asked, her voice thin and whiny. “You don’t really know him. You could be mistaken. Maybe the kid who stole his bike—”

  She stopped, no doubt realizing how desperate and ridiculous she sounded.

  “There’s another witness who identified your son,” Zeke said. “Let’s get something straight here. Ms. Radonovic is the victim. She’s well within her rights to press charges—and I’ve encouraged her to do so, but she’s hoping to spare your son a trip to juvenile court. It all depends on how you handle this.”

  Crissy turned to her husband. His brow was crinkled and his expression fierce. Liz’s intuition told her this man harbored a deep-set hostility toward women. He had yet to make eye contact with Liz.

  “He’s just a kid,” the man said, his voice a deep rumble that was nowhere near as soothing as David’s bass.

  “A kid with a serious problem,” Zeke added.

  “I just want to see him get some help,” Liz said.

  Crissy’s look seemed to say she agreed with Liz, but her husband was already making noises about hiring a lawyer to fight the charge. He even muttered something about proving Liz was to blame. “What do you expect from someone who has Eurotrash living with her?”

  Zeke stood up and took a step closer to Crissy’s husband. He didn’t have a gun in his hand, but somehow he managed to look just as threatening without one. “Like I said, Liz is the victim here. The victim is the one who has all the rights, not your twisted little brat who doesn’t know how to behave in polite society. If you were smart, you’d join him at the shrink’s.”

  The man lost some of his bluster. “Kids are kids. They talk trash. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Or maybe it does. Are you willing to take that chance? This might be your last opportunity to turn this boy around. Are you going to blow it because your ego is on the line?”

  Crissy reached out and took her husband’s hand. To Zeke, she said, “What do we do?”

  Zeke sat down. “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. Pay attention. If any of this doesn’t get done, your son is going to find himself spending a night—maybe longer—in juvie.”

  Liz listened to the agenda Zeke laid out for the couple. Their son would apologize to her in the morning, face-to-face. He would give Zeke the names of his friends, whose parents would also be informed of their sons’ activities. The three couples and their sons would visit Zeke in his office, no later than Thursday. At that time, they would give
him an item-by-item accounting of what repercussions had been decided upon, in particular, what community-service projects and counseling the young men would be participating in. He ended his lecture with a warning. If Liz or her roommates were negatively affected in any way by this unfortunate incident, he would return…and he’d leave his good manners at home.

  Liz kept her gaze on the ground as they left. She was glad to have the confrontation over. Despite Zeke’s threat, Liz would bet her relationship with Crissy—and the homeowners’ association, which had elected Crissy president—was going to deteriorate. From bad to worse.

  She closed the door behind her with a grateful sigh, but she knew the evening wasn’t over yet. “It went better than I expected,” she told her mother and roommates, who eagerly awaited a full recap of the confrontation. “Thank goodness Zeke was there. I don’t think I had enough fight left in me to take on Eli, Senior. The smaller version was bad enough.”

  Her mother gave Zeke a smile that Liz hadn’t seen in a long time—not since her father’s stroke, in fact. The look in Yetta’s eyes held a certain satisfaction, as if life were starting to make sense again and this man was helping.

  The pounding in her head intensified. Liz wanted her mother to be happy, but she really couldn’t deal with any more emotional upheavals tonight. She was too tired.

  “Thanks for your help, Zeke, I’ll keep you posted,” she said, letting her mother know it was time to leave. “And for the record, I’d like you to call off your search for info on David Baines. He’s a decent guy who went out of his way to help a relative stranger. That makes him okay in my book.”

  Zeke and her mother took the hint and left a few minutes later. Lydia and Reezira settled down in front of the television. And, Liz was finally free to escape to her room and her computer. To visit India and Prisha. Where her heart was safely waiting.

  Chapter Six

  “Dammit, Liz, if you don’t get off your duff and get over here in twenty minutes, Kate and I are coming to your house to roust you out of your funk ourselves. And let me warn you, there will be blackstrap molasses and cod-liver oil involved.”