# The Doctor's Little Secret

Jacqueline Diamond

Straight-Arrow M.D. Meets Shoot-From-The-Hip Lady CopAnd they are so wrong for each other!Russ McKenzie knows it the first time he runs afoul of Rachel Byers and stares down the barrel of her gun. But when the town's new doctor needs a temporary fiancée to gain custody of the daughter he's kept secret for the past five years, he's sure the shapely policewoman's chutzpah will compensate for what she lacks in feminine wiles.As they become enmeshed in the dicey charade, however, he starts to fall for Rachel and her refreshingly frank ways. Pretty soon he's wishing he had his own set of handcuffs, to guarantee that she stays where she belongs–with his little girl, and of course with him!

## “The problem is…”

He stopped.

Rachel waited for him to gather his thoughts. No hurry. Besides, she was enjoying the electricity in the air and the guy’s low-key yet unmistakable masculinity—a refreshing change from the macho specimens she knew.

“Lauren’s mother insists that she belongs in a family,” Russ explained. “She remembers me the way I was five years ago, not remotely ready for parenting.”

“How did you change her mind?” This ought to be interesting.

He cleared his throat. “I told her I was engaged.”

That was weird. “To who?”

“Well…you.”

Dear Reader,

The story of Russ and Rachel launches a new series about police officers and children. It actually began as two separate ideas.

First I pictured a woman who had survived a terrible car crash and was finally getting her life on track ten years later. She and her two closest friends volunteered at a homework center and became involved in the lives of needy children. At age thirty, they’d almost given up on love.

The second idea concerned three police officers (originally all male) who were reassessing their lives after narrowly escaping death. Each had to tackle an issue concerning children—perhaps a child given up for adoption, or a desire to have a child—now that life had given him a second chance.

These two ideas mingled in my mind until I realized that they belonged together. In the course of working out the stories, one of the officers became a woman—Rachel—and the man who’d given up a child for adoption became a doctor.

Subsequent stories concern Rachel’s friend Connie and her next-door nemesis, Hale; and Marta—the accident survivor—and the department’s Romeo, Derek. I hope you enjoy them!

Best,

Jacqueline Diamond

The Doctor’s Little Secret

Jacqueline Diamond


www.millsandboon.co.uk

## ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A former Associated Press reporter, Jacqueline Diamond has written more than sixty novels and received a Career Achievement Award from Romantic Times BOOKreviews. Jackie lives in Southern California with her husband, two sons and two cats. You can e-mail her at jdiamondfriends@aol.com or visit her Web site at www.jacquelinediamond.com.

## Books by Jacqueline Diamond

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

913—THE IMPROPERLY PREGNANT PRINCESS

962—DIAGNOSIS: EXPECTING BOSS’S BABY

971—PRESCRIPTION: MARRY HER IMMEDIATELY

978—PROGNOSIS: A BABY? MAYBE

1046—THE BABY’S BODYGUARD

1075—THE BABY SCHEME

1094—THE POLICE CHIEF’S LADY[*]

1101—NINE-MONTH SURPRISE[*]

1109—A FAMILY AT LAST[*]

1118—DAD BY DEFAULT[*]

1130—THE DOCTOR + FOUR[*]

As always, for Kurt

## Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

## Chapter One

Under other circumstances, Rachel Byers might have enjoyed being invited to a party by a couple of guys. Especially great-looking guys with guns.

Unfortunately, her buddies at the Villazon, California, police department thought of her as one of the boys, with maybe a few minor differences.

Take this request from Detective Hale Crandall, the beer-bash host: “Yo, Rache, how about bringing a DVD tomorrow night? A chick flick would be fine. Like the kind with mud wrestling.”

Fine. As long as he didn’t expect her to do the mud wrestling. Speaking of wrestling, she could pin Hale as often as not, and he knew it.

That might be, she supposed, part of her problem.

“Bring a couple of girlfriends, too,” suggested Officer Derek Reed, a Brad Pitt clone whose womanizing reputation had earned him the nickname Sergeant Hit and Run from the nurses at the local hospital. “You know my type. Big blond hair, big—” he made a descriptive gesture with his hands “—you get the picture.”

“If I had girlfriends like that, I wouldn’t let them anywhere near you clowns,” Rachel returned. “Excuse me. Some of us have to patrol. We can’t all work sissy desk jobs.”

Hale snorted. Derek, who seemed less than thrilled about his recent assignment as head of community relations and public information, scowled.

Rachel would hate flying a desk. She loved wearing a uniform and a gun, and enjoyed a little physical action now and then to set the juices flowing.

Too bad she wasn’t getting any physical action in her personal life. At five foot eleven, she either intimidated men or inspired them…to invite her to join their softball team. If she ever met Mr. Right, she’d have to arrest him to reach first base.

Wait. Scratch the reference to first base.

“I wish you wouldn’t encourage them,” muttered Elise Masterson, the other woman on the swing shift. “They’re sexist enough as it is.” She fell into step beside Rachel as they walked toward the back of the building.

“Were they being sexist?” Rachel had difficulty figuring out the finer points of political correctness.

She sympathized with Elise, whose efforts to skin back her blond hair in a bun did little to discourage the masculine attention she considered so annoying. Men had an amazing ability to detect curves even beneath a Kevlar vest.

“Never mind,” Elise answered. “We have more important things to focus on. Finding that lost kid, for instance.”

They’d been advised during briefing to watch for a three-year-old girl named Nina Franco who’d wandered away from her parents a few hours earlier. An intensive search was in progress around the park where she’d vanished.

With luck, some well-meaning civilian would bring Nina in before dark. The disappearance of a child was unusual in the Los Angeles suburb of Villazon. Although it had its share of burglaries and domestic assaults, by and large residents felt safe.

Outside, Elise strode off across the rain-dampened parking lot. A couple of male colleagues paused en route to their cars to study the sway of her butt, graceful despite the heavy lace-up boots.

In high school, Rachel had submitted to dance classes in an attempt to refine her own clunky strut. After she accidentally kicked a classmate and pulled the barre loose from the wall, the teacher had advised her to try the wrestling team. Good suggestion.

Glamour still evaded Rachel with a vengeance. A few months earlier, hoping to update her style, she’d dyed her brown hair to what was supposed to be auburn. It had emerged a brassy red that was still growing out.

Well, she had the right build and temperament for her dream job. What more could a girl ask?

The air smelled of wet asphalt, a testament to the February rains that had soaked Southern California for the past few weeks. Rachel tried not to think about the sodden slope behind her condominium or the risk of its collapsing. Out of her control, so why worry?

Her assigned car was a different matter. Rachel took nothing for granted. Before getting in, she checked the gas level and the tires, tested the lights and oil level, made a survey for any unreported dents and poked around the backseat to make sure some arrestee on an earlier shift hadn’t stashed contraband.

Satisfied, she stowed a gear-filled bag in the trunk and, beside her, secured a metal box containing paperwork and forms. She didn’t want stuff sent flying during a pursuit.

Then, strapping herself into the driver’s seat and switching on the two-way radio and the small computer screen known as a mobile data terminal, she called dispatch to report that she was in service.

Rolling out on patrol provided the usual burst of energy. Rachel treasured the independence and the challenge. On the street, she became her own boss.

Her assigned patrol area today encompassed the central section of Villazon. There was nothing flashy about Rachel’s hometown, she mused as she merged into the flow of traffic, her windows rolled down so she could monitor street noises. Despite its location within a dozen or so miles of Hollywood, movie stars never set foot here unless they got lost fleeing the paparazzi.

The community of fifty thousand offered a mix of shops and office buildings in its core area, along with blocks of Craftsman cottages dating back to the twenties and thirties. Cruising past yards filled with rosebushes and tricycles, Rachel enjoyed the town’s old-fashioned feel. Even its special events had an endearing corniness, she reflected.

Each May, the Pickle Parade celebrated the town’s former claim to fame as the site of a large pickling plant that had processed cucumbers from surrounding fields. The fields were gone, and the pickle factory survived as a farmer’s market that imported most of its produce from either Imperial County, California, or Mexico. Rachel wasn’t sentimental, though. She liked shopping for gifts at In a Pickle.

As she wove a random pattern through the neighborhoods and listened to the radio chatter, she kept watch for Nina. Three feet tall, twenty-five pounds, straight dark locks and brown eyes that smiled from the photo clipped to Rachel’s visor. Last seen wearing blue pants and a pink top with a white bunny on the front.

The searchers near the park hadn’t found her. One witness reported a child of a similar description entering a car driven by a gray-haired man. As Rachel noted the information, her heart squeezed. Kids that age were so helpless and trusting. The possibility of someone harming a child aroused a deeper anger in her than any other crime.

Rachel didn’t remember much from her own life at that age, and what she did recall, she preferred to forget. An alcoholic mother, absent father…Luckily she’d been adopted by a new family who provided as much love and support as a child could ask.

Nina’s image stayed at the forefront of Rachel’s thoughts. After pulling over and citing a gray-haired driver who’d run a red light, she visually inspected the car’s interior and asked him to open his trunk. He complied willingly once she explained the reason, and revealed nothing more threatening than a bag of groceries.

Later, she backed up another officer checking on an elderly woman whose daughter couldn’t reach her by phone. Rachel scanned the children who gathered outside to gawk at the squad car, but none resembled Nina. Indoors, they found the woman with a broken hip and requested an ambulance.

As Rachel returned to her car, early-winter twilight was closing in. On the radio, the exchanges about the search acquired a grim tone. With this lengthy an absence, the possibility of foul play increased.

Still, the story of the gray-haired motorist might be a red herring. If an older child had found Nina and invited her to play, perhaps they’d headed for a playground near the civic center.

Rachel checked out the nearest one, but the slides and climbing equipment stood empty. It was nearly six o’clock. If any children had been there earlier, they were long gone.

Frustrated, she cruised an alley behind the library, passed the post office and crossed the boulevard to the town’s medical complex. This late on a Friday, the doctors’ building beside the Mesa View Medical Center would be deserted, but she decided to make a circuit of the parking structure just the same. You never knew when you’d come across a stolen car listed on one of the hot sheets from briefing.

On the second level, past a support pillar, she glimpsed something that made her mouth go dry. A little girl, the bunny on her T-shirt smeared with dirt, sat on a car bumper while a man knelt on the concrete floor. He’d pulled up one leg of her blue pants and was holding her ankle.

All Rachel could observe of him was a tailored suit and powerful shoulders. Then, evidently hearing her approach, he glanced back. The flat overhead lighting showed nearly black hair graying around the temples.

As Rachel braked facing the suspect, adrenaline surged. She notified dispatch about the girl, the man and the location, and emerged ready for action.

First priority was to ensure the girl’s safety. Second, to secure the suspect. Mr. Power Suit had an inch or two on her, and judging by his muscular frame, he’d be no slouch in a fight. He might also be armed.

Releasing his grip on the girl, the man rose to greet Rachel. He made no sudden moves, but she noted tear tracks on Nina’s cheeks and a torn knee on her pants.

“Step away from the child, sir. Move to your right.” Although she strongly considered reaching for her gun, several recent scandals and a tarnished public image had inspired a departmental policy urging caution when confronting citizens.

That kind of caution could get cops killed. Still, Rachel restrained the impulse.

The man shifted a couple of steps, but irritation flashed in his slate-blue eyes. “I found her wandering in the garage, Officer. She said she hurt her knee.”

He gave the words a convincing, gruff inflection. The guy was attractive with a personable air. Well-dressed and accustomed to giving orders, not taking them, she judged.

To her, that made him all the more loathsome if he’d endangered the child.

“Sweetheart, come stand next to me,” she told Nina.

“He gave me candy,” the girl replied earnestly.

That didn’t surprise Rachel. “Is that why you got in his car?”

“Wait a minute!” the suspect snapped. “She was never in my car.” He glanced at child. “It’s okay, honey. No one’s going to hurt you.”

The youngster eased toward him, holding out a hand. That was too much for Rachel. “Move away from him, Nina!”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, you’re scaring her!”

The girl had drawn close enough to be grabbed. Despite the shrill of an approaching siren, Rachel couldn’t wait for backup.

“On the ground!” she shouted. When the man failed to respond, she lunged forward, spun him around and slammed him against the vehicle. Before he could recover, she wrenched his arms back and reached for her cuffs.

With a shocked cry, the little girl retreated.

“You’ve upset her! Keep those things off me!” The man’s twisting motion threw Rachel against the pillar and sent a jolt of pain through her hip.

Breathing hard, the suspect held his position. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Officer, but nobody pushes me around.”

Rachel drew her gun. “Hands overhead. Face the car.”

Reluctantly he complied. When he glanced over as the screech of tires announced her backup’s arrival, he didn’t appear the least bit frightened.

Elise Masterson exited the cruiser. “Need help?”

“Officer, would you please talk sense to Ms. Byers?” The suspect must have read Rachel’s nametag. “I was walking to my car when I found this little girl.”

Nina merely stared at the three of them, eyes round as pepperoni slices. Rachel kept her weapon trained on the man. “He assaulted me.”

“That’s not true!” he answered tightly. “Besides, you had no business shoving me into the car.”

The matter wasn’t up for debate. “Hands behind your back!”

He looked to Elise, who produced her cuffs. “Do it,” she confirmed.

Resentment darkened his gaze. Mr. Power Suit was definitely used to running the show, Rachel mused. He’d better recognize who was in charge. In one more second, two policewomen were going to take him down.

The rumble of another car reached her ears. Good.

Then she heard a whole bevy of car engines, until the structure echoed like the parking lot of the Villazon Doughnut Emporium during a two-for-one sale. Which reminded her of another unwelcome change in her turf—under the new chief’s regime, officers were no longer allowed to accept free doughnuts.

As Elise clicked the cuffs into place, the cars bumped into view around a curve of the ramp. In the lead, Chief Willard Lyons halted his unmarked sedan. With the suspect under control, Rachel holstered her gun.

Behind the chief came a patrol unit, followed by a station wagon she recognized as belonging to Tracy Johnson, editor and lead reporter for the weekly Villazon Voice. In its wake rolled a van bearing the logo of an L.A. TV news program.

Busybodies from the press—ugh. Rachel loathed the spotlight, and she couldn’t allow them to talk to Nina, who had to be interviewed and driven to the hospital for an exam.

The suspect shook his head in disgust, as if the newcomers simply compounded an already obnoxious situation. For once, she and he agreed on something.

When the child sniffled, Rachel took her hand. It felt small and moist. “You’ll be fine, sweetie.”

“Big cars!”

“They sure are.”

“I’ll escort her to the hospital,” Elise said.

“Thanks.” Reluctantly Rachel surrendered her charge. She had work to complete here. Booking this suspect was going to be a pleasure.

Elise helped the tot into the cruiser. They had only half a block to drive, so with luck the girl would be reunited with her parents soon.

Chief Willard Lyons stepped out of his car. An imposing, barrel-chested figure with a thin mustache and close-cropped brown hair, he’d been hired the previous year, six months after the former chief retired under a cloud. Several embarrassing incidents had hurt the department’s reputation, and Lyons’s job description called for cleaning things up.

He crossed to Rachel and the suspect. “Who do we have here?”

“I haven’t had a chance to check ID,” she responded.

“My wallet’s in my jacket,” said Mr. Power Suit. “Upper left…” A frown. “I can tell it’s not there. I must have put it in my pants.”

Rachel patted him down for a weapon from shoulders to ankles, trying to ignore an unaccustomed awareness of the guy as a fine specimen of his gender. But fine specimens didn’t kidnap little girls. They also didn’t lie about having a wallet.

“No ID,” she reported.

“I must have left it at the hospital. This is my car, Officer. The registration’s in the—” He broke off as a camera operator hoisted a minicam. “What the hell?”

The chief signaled to a rookie. “Keep them behind that pillar, please. Tell them we’ll have a statement in a few minutes.”

“Yes, sir.” The officer marched toward the interlopers.

“Chief—You are the chief, right?” the suspect snapped. “I’d found this child right before your officer jumped me. I heard the Villazon cops were a bunch of cowboys, but Dr. Graves assured me there was nothing to the rumor.”

At the mention of the hospital administrator, the chief’s expression mutated into a frown. “You work for Dr. Graves?”

“I’m on the staff,” the man answered grimly. “My office is in the medical building here.”

He stood taller. Funny how a guy could appear in command despite having his hands cuffed behind him.

“You’re a doctor?” the chief asked.

A nod.

Okay, make that Dr. Power Suit, Rachel thought. No wonder he acted so arrogant. He wouldn’t be the first doctor to confuse himself with God.

“Nevertheless, we’re going to take you in,” Lyons responded.

Rachel expected the suspect to bluster. Instead, he glanced past them toward the reporters. “I think my ID just arrived—along with my alibi.”

She and the chief swung around. Waving at them from behind the rookie was Marta Lawson, a good friend of Rachel’s who ran the hospital gift shop.

“Dr. McKenzie!” The short, brown-haired woman hoisted a leather packet. “You left your wallet on the counter.”

A couple of newly obvious facts hit Rachel. For starters, the guy had honestly misplaced his ID. He’d probably stopped to buy a snack or a magazine on the way out.

Also, if he’d been working at the hospital, he had an alibi for his whereabouts this afternoon. Which meant he might be telling the truth about having spotted Nina in the parking structure.

Even though Rachel considered her actions justified, she’d picked on a big shot who was probably going to make trouble in front of the press. And trouble was the last thing the Villazon Police Department needed.

She knew as well as anyone that when push came to shove, the cop usually ended up taking the heat. The possibility of a sodden slope collapsing on her condominium suddenly seemed minor by comparison.

## Chapter Two

Russ McKenzie had nothing against cops, but he hated bullies, no matter what form they came in. Being pushed around provoked him to a fighting rage. This made him doubly incensed because it meant losing control. In most respects, he kept his emotions under tight guard. Except with kids, of course. His warm response to children was part of the reason he’d become a pediatrician.

So when he’d heard a small, quavery voice asking for help and saw a rumpled child who complained of a sore knee, he hadn’t hesitated. To calm her, he’d offered a mint from his newly purchased roll, then checked her injury while asking where her parents might be. She’d explained, haltingly, that she’d followed a group of older children and lost her way.

He’d been relieved to spot an officer. But instead of receiving a thank-you for finding the child, he’d been roughed up and treated like a criminal until Marta and other hospital personnel had confirmed his whereabouts for the day. Russ didn’t like to think about how he’d have been treated had he met the child while arriving for work rather than departing.

He hadn’t had to go to the station, and he’d provided his statement and received an apology from Chief Lyons right there in the garage. Yet the perpetrator of the outrage stood scowling at him as if he were in the wrong. The officer might be pretty if she’d lose the pugnacious air and the odd, bicolored hair. Now that his initial anger had ebbed, he found her rather intriguing.

Leaning against a pillar, he rubbed one wrist where the cuff had chafed and tried to collect his thoughts. The last hour had sped by as more cops piled in, the media clamored for interviews and the little girl’s tearful parents arrived.

They’d been distressed to learn they had to wait for an all-clear from the hospital. Meanwhile, a detective had ushered them aside and plied them with additional questions. Russ was glad the police took the girl’s situation seriously. Her parents should have watched her more closely.

After obtaining the story, the news van and the local reporter had finally left. They’d treated Russ as a sort of hero, which he considered almost as ridiculous as being vilified.

Under the chief’s watchful eye, the truculent Officer Byers approached. “I, uh, guess I owe you an apology.”

Anger prevented a reply. He wasn’t ready to make peace yet.

“More,” said the chief.

“More what?” she inquired.

“You said you owe him an apology. You didn’t issue one.”

The woman’s jaw tightened until Russ feared she might require restorative dental work. In a strained voice, she uttered, “Sorry, sir. I was trying to protect the child.”

“She didn’t need protecting from me.” Russ supposed he ought to drop the matter, but her maltreatment had brought up deep-seated resentment. “When I moved here last month from west L.A., I hoped a small town would be a friendly place to live. Guess I was wrong.”

“We are friendly,” the chief protested. “Say, I have an idea how to atone for this misunderstanding. Rachel, why don’t you take the doctor on a ride-along tomorrow? It’s Saturday and maybe he’s off. He might enjoy a cop’s-eye view of Villazon.”

Any other chief would have backed off, fearful of a lawsuit. Lyons’s conciliatory tone reminded Russ of Dr. Graves’s assurance that the police department was bending over backward to safeguard its reputation.

As for the officer, she looked as if she were considering taking up long-distance marathon running—in the opposite direction. Ross found the prospect of discomfiting her further amusing. Besides, what better way to get acquainted with his adopted hometown?

“I accept,” he announced. “What time?”

“Sorry. I’m off-duty tomorrow and the next two days after that.” Rachel didn’t bother to hide her relief. Ironically, her more relaxed mood revealed an intriguing warmth. Definitely a woman of many layers, Russ thought.

“You have three days off?” He wondered what kind of schedule these cops worked.

“We work five nine-hour days in a row, then three off,” she responded. “Working nine hours lets us overlap patrols so the crooks can’t take advantage of shift change.”

The chief persisted. “Well then, how about a ride-along next week, Doctor?”

Officer Byers’s mouth twisted. Her annoyance nearly spurred Russ to accept, but he had patients scheduled. Also, he was curious about this woman. He’d never met anyone quite like her. “Next Saturday will be soon enough. You are on duty then, aren’t you?”

She squirmed. “I’d rather not have this hanging over my head. I’m sure the Chamber of Commerce can provide you with a tour guide.”

The chief folded his arms. Rachel sighed so profoundly that Russ had to sympathize. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll drive the doctor around tomorrow on my free day, although I’m sure I’ll bore the socks off him.”

The woman’s bluntness tickled him. “Whatever you’d like to show me, I’m sure I’ll find it fascinating.”

“Ten, fifteen minutes and you’ll be either screaming to go home or fast asleep.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

Russ supposed he must be nuts to want to view local landmarks with an Amazon who apparently wished he would drop off the face of the earth. Maybe he’d spent too many evenings alone, catching up on medical journals and staring at the sparsely furnished rooms of his house. Except for the old friend who’d encouraged him to move here, he didn’t have anyone to hang out with in Villazon. For whatever reason, the prospect of spending a few hours in Rachel Byers’s company appealed to him.

The chief’s cell rang. He listened with evident satisfaction. “Excellent. I’m sure the parents are more than ready to take her home.”

“She’s okay?” Russ asked when the chief clicked off. Until now he’d been so distracted he hadn’t considered that perhaps the girl really had suffered a misadventure during her lost hours.

“A sore knee where she fell on it, nothing more.” Lyons shook hands with Russ. “Thanks for finding Miss Franco. I can’t tell you how glad we are that she ended up in your hands rather than someone else’s.”

“Me, too.” Russ scribbled his home address on the back of a business card and handed it to Rachel. “What time?”

“Three o’clock.” The words came out clipped.

“Suits me.”

She met his gaze. “You really did look suspicious.”

“Officer Byers!” snapped the chief.

“I’m gone.” She made tracks for her patrol car.

“Quite a character,” Russ observed.

“She’s conscientious. A good cop.” The chief reiterated his regret at the way Russ had been treated.

“I’m glad we worked it out,” he responded.

In no hurry to leave, Russ watched Lyons’s vehicle and a black-and-white depart in tandem. Officer Byers lingered beside her cruiser, absentmindedly rubbing her hip as she scribbled notes on a clipboard.

Being knocked against a pillar must have left a bruise. The fact that his own body ached from the way she’d man-handled him didn’t diminish Russ’s regret at inflicting pain. “Sorry if I hurt you,” he called.

Her face came up. Wide cheekbones, clear hazel eyes. “Oh, hey, I can always use a workout.” With a wave, she slid inside.

Not the type to hold a grudge, he thought. That impressed him.

Left alone in the echoing garage, Russ felt his mood plummet. Maybe he missed the excitement. No, not really. Or was it Rachel’s stubborn frankness? Well, a little.

Halfway home, he recognized the real problem. The encounter with little Nina had intensified a deep-seated longing to meet the daughter he’d given up for adoption five years ago. Consenting to give her up was the greatest regret of his life.

When his girlfriend informed him of her pregnancy, Russ had been exhausted from the stress of his internship and stunned by the news. He’d halfheartedly offered a proposal that Janine had wisely rejected.

Disputing her decision to grant custody of Lauren to Janine’s parents hadn’t even occurred to him. He couldn’t have raised an infant alone, especially not while facing a mountain of medical school bills. So he’d signed the relinquishment papers at a lawyer’s office without requesting to see his newborn daughter.

The grandparents no doubt took good care of the child, and Russ understood why they refused to let him visit. But he missed the daughter he’d never even held.

Now that he was settling in a small town and, thanks to an inheritance, no longer owed money, he hoped for another chance at raising a family. He’d like to find the right woman—a gentle, caring person eager to have kids. He imagined them sharing an orderly, well-run home like his parents’.

In the meantime, he looked forward to tomorrow’s tour with the crusty Officer Byers. It ought to prove diverting.

RACHEL COULDN’T DECIDE what to wear.

She hated the whole business of picking out clothes. One of the major appeals of being a police officer was the uniform.

Usually on free days she threw on a pair of slacks and a sweater, which was pretty much all she owned. But today she had to represent the department, in a sense. Plus, after she dropped the doctor off, she planned to swing by Hale Crandall’s party.

Peering in the mirror, Rachel ruffled her two-toned hair, which she’d observed Russ regarding in horrified fascination. She’d be willing to bet his taste in dates ran to sleek and sophisticated.

Hot ladies probably sought his phone number everywhere he went. In addition to that alluring M.D. hooked to his name, the guy had broad shoulders and tight buns. Nice mouth, too. Doubtful he’d consider her romance material. Also, the only thing worse than being treated as one of the guys would be landing in some hotshot’s bed as his latest conquest. Just in case he did go for tall women with bicolored thatch on the roof, maybe she ought to wear the uniform.

Rachel, who usually had no trouble making up her mind, couldn’t choose. She didn’t dare call Elise, who disdained the idea of dressing to please a guy. Marta was almost as fashion-challenged as Rachel, which left a single choice: Marta’s cousin Connie.

Connie Lawson Simmons, ex-wife of traffic Sgt. Joel Simmons, was the girliest girl she knew. Heck, Connie was probably the girliest girl anybody knew. She decorated her house with enough crystal, china and gewgaws to open a gift store, which was exactly what she’d done. She now owned three such shops, including the concession at the hospital.

In high school, where Connie had been a cheerleader, she used to sniff whenever Rachel walked by as if picking up a bad odor. Rachel had considered Connie a case of lint between the ears.

They’d been nineteen-year-old sophomores at Cal State Fullerton on the day a speeding car plowed through a red light and caved in the passenger side of Connie’s sedan, where Marta was riding. Waiting at the curb en route to a police-science class, Rachel had pulled Marta to safety moments before the engine caught fire.

Although Connie had escaped unharmed, the accident left her cousin with head injuries and multiple fractures. She’d survived to face years of rehab.

Rachel and Connie had grown close as they sat at Marta’s bedside and later assisted with her exercises. Despite dissimilar personalities, the three had remained friends through eleven years of ups and downs, and all volunteered at Villa Corazon, a volunteer tutoring center Marta had helped establish. Villa Corazon. That meant City of Heart, a play on the town’s name.

Feeling like an idiot, Rachel called her friend and explained the situation. “What do you suggest?”

“Is there time for us to go shopping?” She could picture Connie, blond hair caressing her shoulders and lips parted in a manner that drove men crazy. “Because I’m sure you don’t have anything in your closet.”

Rachel didn’t take offense. Not only was this true, it scarcely counted as an insult compared to the words that used to pour from Connie’s lipsticked mouth whenever she lost her temper with her ex-husband. Or her next-door neighbor, Hale Crandall, on those frequent occasions when he ran afoul of her.

“It’s too late.” Less than an hour remained. After finishing work at midnight and playing an on-line video game until 3 a.m., Rachel had slept till noon. “I’m not trying to date the guy. I just prefer to avoid looking like a dork.”

Connie didn’t hesitate. “Dig around and see if you have a skirt. Also a green blouse.”

“Why green?”

A disbelieving snort. “To match your eyes!”

“My eyes are hazel.” On that point, Rachel felt certain.

“They’re mostly green.” A beat later, Connie added, “Bad idea about a skirt. You’d probably put it on backward.”

“I hate skirts anyway.” Rachel had never realized she had a best color. “Green, huh?”

“I might own a top that would fit you.” That was a huge concession, considering how particular Connie was with her stuff.

“May not be necessary. Hold on.” Cell phone in hand, Rachel poked through her closet. Brown, blue, maroon. At last, in the depths, she discovered an emerald turtleneck that she vaguely recalled receiving from her sister one Christmas. “I found a green sweater.”

“How about black pants?”

“Right here.” Rachel lifted a pair off the hanger. “Wait. They could be navy blue.”

Connie groaned. “Carry them into the daylight!” Then, “On second thought, you’ll need makeup. I can be there in ten minutes.”

She’d bring mascara and green eye shadow, Rachel thought. Scary prospect. “I’ll handle it. Honest. I’ll duck over from Hale’s party and show you.”

“Hale’s throwing a party?”

Uh-oh. That idiot detective should have warned his neighbor. It might at least take the edge off her temper when the party reached full swing.

Connie had never forgiven Hale for encouraging Joel’s drinking and party-going behavior, which had been a major factor in their split. Now she was stuck living next door to Crandall, with the result that practically any transgression on his part sent her into a rage. It seemed to Rachel that Connie resented Hale almost as much as her ex.

“It’s a barbecue,” she admitted. “Starts at five.”

“If those creeps are too loud, I’ll call 911 on ’em. Imagine what having his own men busted would do to Chief Lyons and his image campaign!”

“How about waiting till I leave? Better yet, give us a break.” Rachel would hate to land in trouble two days running, or to see her buddies in a jam. “Maybe I can keep a lid on things.”

“I might drop in to see you and the good doctor. You are bringing him, right?”

“No way!” Rachel couldn’t imagine him mixing with her pals. And his presence might give others the idea she had a boyfriend.

That wouldn’t be bad if it were true. She kept wishing she’d feel sparks for some nice solid Joe, the kind who invited her to Dodgers games or classic car rallies.

As a teenager, Rachel had ruined several friendships and one budding romance by nearly smothering the other person. Maturity had enabled her to recognize the displaced child’s lingering neediness and overcome it, maybe a bit too thoroughly.

Then along came a guy like Dr. Power Suit who stirred a few embers of the old longing. She might as well enjoy the glow, because given their fundamental differences, it wouldn’t last.

After hanging up, Rachel carried the pants to the window as Connie had suggested. They were black, but she chose gray slacks instead. Less formal.

A glance outside showed a couple of workmen scrambling over the slope behind her condo, taking measurements. Probably from a geology firm the condo association had hired to assess the landslide danger.

Rachel squinted at the cloudy sky. Today’s forecast didn’t call for rain, thank goodness. She’d hate for one of California’s frequent mudslides to wipe out this condo. Mostly because it represented a huge investment on her modest salary, but also because she might lose her cherished collection of sentimental items, including a floppy stuffed dog her adoptive parents had presented her on her first Christmas with them.

Another treasure was the psychology report her handicapped sister, Kathy, had laboriously researched and typed. Inside the cover, a professor had marked a large red A and the comment, “You show great insight.” Rachel had been thrilled when Kathy gave it to her.

Despite cerebral palsy and birth parents who’d left her to the mercies of the social welfare system, Kathy had a shining spirit and a sharp mind. At twenty-two, she was close to earning a college degree. Rachel cheered her every step of the way.

She’d hate to lose any of this stuff. But in the end, what mattered were people, not things.

On the way to pick up Russ, she stopped to rent some DVDs about off-road biking and motorcycle racing—lots of noise and action, without the confusion of a plot. Or any half-naked women, either.

She tossed them into the back and headed for Russ’s address. It lay on the west side of town in a development called Amber View because of the surrounding brown hills. Or at least, that was their usual color. Due to recent rains, they were verdant with lush growth.

At the end of a cul-de-sac, the house resembled a traditional cottage right down to the white picket fence and cozy front porch. Kind of homey for a bachelor pad, Rachel mused. She’d assumed from the lack of a ring and the guy’s eagerness for a tour that he wasn’t married, but she might be wrong.

Rachel’s spirits sank at the possibility of encountering a Mrs. McKenzie. How ridiculous—as if she and that arrogant doctor had anything in common! But he wasn’t exactly arrogant, she conceded. Merely strong-willed and outraged at being falsely accused of a heinous act. His wife was probably beautiful and well educated.

She’d wince at the sight of Rachel’s hair. Jeez, maybe she ought to follow Connie’s advice and risk another potentially disastrous color job. Or, as Marta had humorously suggested, get a buzz cut and hope the hair grew back curly.

Bracing for an awkward situation, Rachel rang the bell. From the interior she heard masculine footsteps and then the door opened.

Daylight gave depth to the guy’s slate-blue eyes and highlighted the strong bones of his face. “Hey,” Rachel said.

“Office Byers.” He scanned her approvingly. “Nice outfit.”

“You, too,” she responded. A dark-blue jacket over an open-collared shirt—sexy as heck with designer jeans.

Behind him, a big-screen TV and a wall of audiovisual equipment dominated the living room. A lounge chair in the middle of the carpet and a black leather couch along one wall constituted the only other furnishings. The decor screamed bachelor. Besides, had a Mrs. McKenzie existed, she’d have stuck her nose out by now.

Surprised by how relieved she felt, Rachel confined her next comment to, “We’d better get going.”

“A lot to cover before dark?” An eyebrow lifted skeptically.

“Be a shame to cut our tour short if I have to assist at an emergency.”

“Does that happen often?”

Rarely in this town, but the Villazon PD had a mutual-aid pact with surrounding cities. “Once in a while.”

The doctor emerged smelling of sophisticated after-shave, a welcome change from the hairy-male scents Rachel’s colleagues wore. If this were a date, she might feel tingly at the prospect of snuggling beside him in her car.

Okay, she did feel tingly.

“Anything in particular that interests you?” she asked as they climbed into the sporty two-seater. “On the tour, I mean.”

“I’d be happy with an overview and a bit of history.” Russ bent stiffly, perhaps as a result of being pushed against his car yesterday. The encounter had left Rachel with a crescent-shaped contusion on one hip. She considered any duty-related bruise a badge of honor.

Wrenching her mind away from body parts, she focused on matters of historical interest. There weren’t many in a town that blended into its neighbors. “Some legendary stuff used to go on at the high school, like the time the football team hoisted the principal’s car on top of the gym for Homecoming. That was my junior year.”

The quarterback’s father owned a construction company, where the son had learned to operate a crane. Rachel took pride in the fact that no one had ratted on him.

“I was thinking more in terms of pioneers.” Russ smiled. “But I like your version.”

As she started the ignition, Rachel realized she hadn’t carried a male passenger since she’d bought the car last year. Russ’s legs were so long her hand grazed his thigh when she reached for the gearshift, and as they rounded a corner, their shoulders bumped.

“Kind of friendly in here,” she muttered.

“‘Friendly’?” he teased. “I like the way you talk.”

“What way I talk?” She didn’t have an accent. She spoke standard Californian, spiced with the occasional Spanish phrase such as “hasta la vista, baby.”

“You talk like a cop,” Russ responded.

“That’s what I am.” At a stop sign, Rachel waited while two skate-boarders shot from behind a parked car and skittered across the street. “There’s a couple of accidents waiting to happen.”

“I didn’t see them coming.” Her passenger frowned. “Usually I’m on the alert for kids.”

“Hope we don’t end up peeling them off the pavement.”

He chuckled.

“What?” She didn’t see anything funny about her remark.

“I like that you don’t make the usual small talk about jobs and, oh, whatever,” Russ explained. “It bores me, maybe because I’m not good at it.”

That surprised her. He struck Rachel as the glib type.

“I don’t care for small talk, either,” she admitted. “Girl talk is okay, though.”

“Why?” he asked.

“’Cause I need my friends’ advice.”

“On what?” The guy actually appeared interested.

She recalled her earlier line of thought. “These days, they try to tell me how to fix my hair. You may have noticed the dye turned me into a refugee from Bozo the Clown school.” After a moment she added, “I don’t guess women ever offer you advice about what to do with your hair.” More likely, they tried to run their fingers through it.

“Rarely.” He glanced out the window as they exited the development. “Do you have any idea what those gnarly trees are? Or what kind of fruit they’re bearing?”

“That’s an avocado grove.”

“Really? I didn’t realize they grew around here.”

“Used to be a lot of them.” Rachel was pleased to discover she’d absorbed more details about her community than she’d realized. “They’re Hass avocados, the kind with warty black skin. Absolutely the best-tasting. You fix guacamole with any other variety, you have to stir in salsa for flavor, but these suckers are perfect mashed with a dash of garlic salt. Every Hass avocado in the world is descended from a single tree in La Habra Heights. That’s not far from Villazon.”

“Is the tree on the tour?” he asked with a hopeful air.

“It died a few years ago. There’s a plaque where it used to stand,” she offered.

“Only a plaque? I’ll pass.”

She drove past In a Pickle. As she explained its origins, he said he might return later to buy a souvenir jar of pickles but didn’t want to risk having the lid come off in her car.

Rachel appreciated his consideration. “Marta and I rescued a dog once and it threw up all over my old car,” she said. “I never completely cleared the smell out. There’s nothing worse than beagle barf.”

“Is that so?” Russ chuckled again. Rachel didn’t see what was funny about an upchucking dog.

“Even vinegar didn’t kill the odor. It just made the car stink worse.” They were traversing Arches Avenue. “You’ve seen the civic center, since you work across the street. The only other historic site is Alessandro’s Italian Deli.”

“A deli is a historic site?” Russ inquired.

“Well, not the actual deli,” she conceded. “On that site used to stand the First Bank of Villazon. There’s a rumor that Richard Nixon opened an account there when he had a law office in La Habra.”

“Was that anywhere near the avocado tree?”

“No. La Habra Heights is a separate community north of La Habra. His office isn’t there anymore, by the way. They tore it down. Broke the preservationists’ hearts.” Rachel had no illusions as to how Villazon and environs stacked up against L.A. People traveled long distances to see the Hollywood Walk of Fame and the Page Museum with its skeletons of mastodons and sabertooth tigers. “I realize a deli isn’t exactly the La Brea Tar Pits.”

“On the other hand, I’ll bet the deli sells better prosciutto,” Russ hazarded.

“You’re making me hungry.” She glanced at the dashboard clock. Nearly five. “I’d better drive you home.” Indicating the rear of the car, she explained, “I have to take those DVDs to Hale Crandall’s house. He’s one of our detectives.”

When Russ twisted for a glimpse, his knee bumped her wrist. Rachel felt a little giddy. She’d been experiencing a pleasant buzz from the guy all afternoon.

“Are they evidence?” he inquired.

“They’re motorcycle movies. For a party.”

Swinging back, Russ brushed her again. More buzz than a swarm of bees. “I don’t know a lot of people in this town,” he said. “I’d love to go to the party. Any chance I can tag along?”

Rachel was so taken aback she could only stutter, “Uh…uh, I guess. But it’s a cop gathering,” she protested belatedly. Blabbing to Connie should have taught her to keep her mouth shut. “Backyard barbecue with a hefty serving of testosterone.” She hoped that last bit discouraged him. Chief Lyons wouldn’t like her dragging Dr. McKenzie over there to watch the guys guzzle beer.

“Great,” the doc responded. “I love barbecues.”

Rachel couldn’t uninvite him without being rude. That would tick off the chief worse.

The other cops would needle her later about bringing a date. And if Connie got an eyeful of this guy, she’d have plenty to say. Like, Tell me again why you aren’t jumping his bones.

Glumly, Rachel headed for Hale’s house. She had a feeling the main dish grilling over the coals was going to be her goose.

## Chapter Three

In actual fact, Russ didn’t relish the prospect of attending a party with a bunch of sweaty macho guys. He’d rather spend the evening cruising around with Rachel, listening to her loopy presentation and trying to figure out when she was kidding and when she was in earnest, but he was enjoying her company too much to quit now. So he would put up with whatever this party involved rather than go home alone.

He’d never met anyone like her. His parents, a professional couple who claimed to be advocates of social equality, might bend over backward to raise money for the oppressed but showed a subtle snobbery toward those from a blue-collar background.

One of the reasons he’d moved to Villazon was to escape their narrow social circle, which had drawn him in while he lived and worked so close to them. His old friend, a child psychologist named Mike Federov who served on staff at Mesa View Med Center, had praised the town’s friendliness and its healthy mixture of economic and ethnic groups.

Russ preferred to accept people as individuals. And Rachel Byers was unquestionably an individual. Maybe her co-workers would turn out to be interesting, as well.

Their destination proved to be a neighborhood of ranch-style homes in the southern part of town, a few blocks past a shopping center that included a discount furniture store, a gift shop and a supermarket. A row of jacaranda trees lined the street, showing only the first hint of buds that would later blossom into vivid lavender.

“The guys tend to act a little wild on their days off,” Rachel warned as she found a space along the crowded curb.

“Meaning what, exactly?” Russ inquired.

“They’re kind of physical.” She collected the DVDs.

“In what sense?” His idea of getting physical at a barbecue involved nothing more than hefting a hamburger.

“Ever wrestle with your brother? Or your sister?” she said as she climbed out.

Russ had developed a distaste for fighting in high school, when he’d had to deck a few guys to end persistent bullying. Although he’d won, he hadn’t enjoyed the experience.

“I’m an only child. While I’ve done weight training, I never cared for contact sports.” He seized on a more interesting topic. “How many siblings do you have, anyway?”

“Depends on how you figure it.” With that enigmatic comment, she veered onto a walkway, marched up the steps and entered the house without knocking. Since he assumed this must be acceptable behavior, Russ followed.

They appeared to have walked into a pool hall. Cigarette smoke, masculine chatter and the crack of a cue against a ball greeted them. At a billiards table, half a dozen men were so busy playing that they barely acknowledged the new arrivals. Their Hawaiian shirts and cargo shorts made Russ feel overdressed in his jacket and jeans.

On the walls above a mismatched array of chairs and couches, someone had tacked frayed motorcycle posters. Beer cans and food wrappers crowded a few small tables and less-trafficked areas of the floor.

He and Rachel proceeded through a den with a big-screen TV across which aliens zapped each other. The circle of players didn’t even glance up. Despite their age and size, they reminded Russ of video-addicted adolescents.

In the kitchen, doorless cabinets revealed shelves sparsely stocked with canned goods. The countertop overflowed with chips, dips, crackers, cookies and a half-empty box of doughnuts.

Russ peered around for actual food. The appetizing scent wafting through the wide-open sliding door indicated that it awaited outdoors.

A couple of guys interrupted their snacking to return Rachel’s high-fives. “This is Dr. McKenzie. He’s new at the hospital.”

“Guess we’ll be seeing you in the E.R., then.” A beefy fellow with an air of authority offered his hand. “I’m Captain Ferguson. Call me Frank.”

The others also greeted Russ in a friendly manner. Russ didn’t bother to correct the impression that he’d been invited as a sort of comrade-by-association. Besides, pediatricians did consult in the E.R. on occasion.

Rachel sniffed the charcoal-scented smoke wafting through the sliding door. “Burgers ready?”

“You ought to hold off eating.” Derek Reed, who’d introduced himself as the community relations officer, surveyed her lazily. “Hale’s setting up a competition. Just your speed.”

“You mean a game?” Russ asked. Whatever these guys had in mind, he suspected it wasn’t croquet.

“I wouldn’t call it a game exactly,” remarked a fellow who’d given his name as Joel Simmons. “Hope you brought your swimsuit, Rache.”

“Nah. I’ll have to borrow.” Leaving to the imagination exactly what she expected to borrow in a houseful of guys, she led the way to the patio.

A long table held plates, buns and condiments. Beyond it, a group of men and women lounged in plastic chairs watching basketball on a portable TV. To their left, a muscular aproned man—presumably the host—tended a humongous hooded grill.

Russ and Rachel retrieved soft drinks from an ice-filled cooler. “I’ll save the beer for later,” she explained. “Better be on my toes if there’s a challenge.”

An assortment of dented bicycles leaned against the cement wall that surrounded the yard. Russ was about to ask their purpose when a burst of smoke poured from the barbecue as the cook lifted the hood. “That’s Hale. We better find out what’s on the agenda before he gets busy serving.” Rachel strode in his direction.

She made introductions. When their host heard Russ’s occupation, the detective said, “Good idea, bringing a doctor.”

That sounded ominous. “What’s with the bikes?” Russ asked.

“They were left over from the police auction last week. I bought ’em cheap.”

Russ had read about the sale, which raised money for the department by disposing of unclaimed stolen or lost goods. That didn’t explain why Hale had decided to decorate his backyard with them, a point that wasn’t lost on Rachel.

“Bicycles, pool. They don’t exactly go together.” Picking up a pair of tongs, she snagged a blackened green pepper strip, blew on it and tossed it into her mouth. Her eyes grew teary.

Hale grinned. “Hot enough for you?”

She dashed the heat with a swallow of soda. “Jalapeño?” She’d plainly assumed it to be a bell pepper.

“Worse. Thai dragon.” The name said it all. “So you want to hear about the bikes?”

Although Rachel seemed to have trouble speaking clearly, she managed to nod.

Hale proceeded to outline a contest. Competitors chose a bike and pedaled around the pool. After making a hairpin turn at one end, they were to hop off the bike, dive in and swim across. The entire procedure would be timed.

Rachel chugged more soda. “What’s the prize?” she wheezed, still suffering the effects of the pepper.

“Case of beer.”

Of course, Russ thought.

“Cold?” said Rachel.

“My fridge isn’t that large,” Hale responded. “You in?”

Russ couldn’t let his new friend risk her neck. “Riding bikes on wet pavement sounds dangerous. Have you played this before?”

“Nope. Just thought of it,” Hale responded proudly, and laid cheese slices atop a couple of burgers.

“Did you try it yourself?” Russ challenged.

“Sure. Matter of fact, I set the baseline. Thirty seconds.” Hale gestured toward the pool. “Piece of cake.”

Recognizing the futility of citing the risks, Russ tried a different tactic. “Have you checked your homeowners policy for liability?”

“The department has great medical insurance,” Hale returned casually. To the other guests, he bellowed, “Come and get it!”

Her mind obviously made up, Rachel requested the loan of some shorts and a T-shirt. Hale directed her to the second bedroom on the right.

As she disappeared into the interior, Russ reminded himself that he wasn’t Rachel’s date or her keeper, just a tag-along. She obviously had a thrill-seeking personality.

After Hale finished dishing out burgers, Russ seized the opportunity to press, “I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

The other man considered briefly. Then he asked, “What kind of doctor did you say you were?”

“Pediatrician.”

“That explains it.” Hale nodded with satisfaction, as if he’d discovered the source of what he considered excessive anxiety. “Don’t worry, Doc. It isn’t as if I’m letting a kid do this.”

Hopeless.

Rachel wasn’t the only daredevil in the crowd. During her absence, a wiry fellow grabbed a bike, issued a war cry and hit the pedals full force, zipping around the pool fully dressed except for bare feet.

The racing-style bike swerved at the end and slipped a little as he climbed off. Applause went up from the spectators as he leaped over the still-spinning wheels, hit the water and churned his way to the far side.

“Twenty-six seconds!” Hale hooted. “He’s in the lead!”

The pressure of police work must accumulate until these guys were dying to let off steam, Russ mused. He only hoped nobody got hurt. Especially not Rachel.

A second contestant set off to a round of cheers, but lost his balance on the second turn. He had to plant both feet on the ground to avoid falling.

“Default!” Hale yelled.

“Ow!” A string of curses blistered the air as the man regarded his badly scraped soles. He limped off, presumably to find first aid.

More people emerged from inside for a fresh round of burgers. Between bites, they challenged each other to participate.

“You’re outta luck, you losers. The winner’s here.” Rachel marched out with a swagger. She’d traded her clothes for a USC Trojans T-shirt and oversize shorts with an extension cord doubling as a belt. Long legs ended in shapely bare feet. She looked rough-and-ready and incredibly sexy.

Russ contemplated a further effort to stop her, but the crowd was calling out encouragement. Clasping both hands above her head, Rachel performed an impromptu previctory prance. At this point, he guessed she’d dive into an empty pool before she’d beg off.

The question of how the chief might react crossed his mind. But the chief wasn’t here, and Captain Ferguson didn’t appear to object.

“Where’d you find that cord?” Hale demanded of Rachel.

“Your room.” She stopped dancing around.

“Can you be more specific?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll reset your clock, if I live.”

He glared. “You have any idea how hard it is to set that alarm? The buttons stick.”

Joel hooted. “Guess you’ll have to find somebody to wake you up in the morning!”

The comment brought razzes and whistles. Shrugging them off, the host told Rachel to get moving or he’d declare her in default.

Russ tensed as she picked out a bike. “She should at least wear a helmet,” he told Derek.

“It’s dangerous to whack your head on the water in one of those,” the officer replied. “Might cause brain injury.”

“She’d have to take it off before she dove in,” Russ conceded.

“Then she’d lose.” That appeared to be the overriding consideration.

Too late to intervene, anyway. Torn between excitement and apprehension, Russ watched as Rachel’s athletic body set off, pedaling like mad around the concrete. Excellent coordination. Great balance, too, as she overcame a slight skid. The crowd fell silent.

His stomach clenched as she screeched to a halt on the lip and leaped off in the direction of the water. Then something went wrong.

Her foot must have caught a piece of the bike, because she landed at an off angle, going so fast she hardly seemed aware that she was too close to one side. Or perhaps she just wasn’t willing to waste time correcting her position. The bike kept moving across the concrete until it hit a metal garbage can with an ear-splitting crash.

“Go left!” somebody shouted.

“You’re too close!” called another bystander.

Russ started around the pool, hoping to run interference. Too late. Obviously disoriented, Rachel smacked against the far corner of the pool and disappeared into the depths. A brief silence ensued.

“Twenty-one seconds!” Hale slapped his leg. “I’ll bet that record’s gonna stand.”

“Isn’t she hurt?” a woman asked.

“I’ll bet she’s just playing possum.” Joel didn’t sound very certain, though.

In the pool, Rachel’s inert form drifted below the surface. A whole platoon full of trained officers and not one of them made a move. There she was in the deep end, not even struggling. Eyes half-closed. If she’d hit her head…Dismissing the dire possibilities, Russ focused on his task.

After whipping off his jacket and kicking off his shoes, he dove in. Cool heaviness closed around him, pulling at the clothes as he strained toward her.

As he’d learned in long-ago swimming classes, he gripped Rachel’s head from behind, out of reach in case she started to flail. He almost wished she would, but she floated limply as he towed her to the edge.

All her spirit and energy had vanished, and he missed them keenly. Missed the unique person he’d only started to appreciate.

When they reached the pool’s edge, Rachel gasped. A relieved Russ sucked in air. Then strong hands hauled them up.

“Good job, Doc.” Beneath his tan, Hale had gone pale. At last the peril appeared to have penetrated his thick skull. “She okay?”

Rachel sputtered and coughed as she lay on the cement. A moment later, she wheezed, “Had the wind knocked out of me.” Another few breaths and she added, “Did I win?”

“Yup,” Hale said. “By a wide margin.”

Rachel raised her fist a few inches in a gesture of victory. Russ wanted to hug her and scold her at the same time. “How’s your head? Did you hurt your foot?”

“Ankle’s bruised. Head’s fine.”

Someone tossed a couple of towels their way. While drying off, Russ checked his wallet. Except for dampness around the edges, it had survived intact, unlike his watch, whose digital face had gone blank. Worth the sacrifice, he decided. Next time, he’d buy a waterproof model.

A crash of wood against wood drew everyone’s attention to a gate flung open in the fence between yards. A petite blonde with outrage written on her face stormed in.

“What the heck was that racket?” Her furious gaze took in the dented bikes and overturned trash can. “Hale, you lunkhead, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Oh, great. We woke the dragon lady,” Joel muttered to no one in particular.

“Who’s that?” Russ inquired quietly.

“My ex-wife, Connie.” Joel ground his teeth. “That used to be my house. Hale and I should never have put in that gate.” Ruefully he added, “Used to be fun sneaking over here to drink beer while I was supposed to be doing yard work.”

The blonde advanced on their host, who found his escape route blocked by the grill. Russ caught the end of her tirade. “…can’t hear myself think!”

“We’re done,” Hale assured her, unable to retreat any farther without barbecuing his backside.

“Done with what?”

“A little contest.” He cleared his throat. “Good news! Rache won.”

Connie spotted the figure sprawled on the concrete and rushed over. “Are you all right? Hale, she ought to sue you!”

“I’m fine.” Rachel sat up. “Hale, are there any more burgers? I’m starved.” Taking Connie’s hand, she hauled herself to her feet, nearly toppling the blonde in the process.

Connie surveyed her friend with a frown. “I thought you were going to dress nice. Why are you wearing that?”

“I borrowed it from Hale.”

The reference to clothing confused Russ. Why had the two discussed Rachel’s clothing choices? Before he could draw any conclusions, the newcomer addressed him. “You must be Dr. McKenzie. I’m Connie Simmons.”

The fact that she knew his name meant Rachel had informed her about the outing and, presumably, sought advice. Interesting.

“Pleased to meet you.” Russ shook hands, embarrassed to be caught under such circumstances. “I assure you, I don’t condone this activity.”

“Neither does any sane person,” Connie declared. “You look a bit the worse for wear.”

“He fished me out.” Lowering her head, Rachel toweled her hair. “You should have seen me sinking like a pair of old sneakers.”

“Thank you, Doctor. I’m glad someone around here has a brain.” Connie swung toward Hale. “I ought to tell the chief about this insanity.”

“Don’t be a jerk,” growled her ex-husband.

Connie’s eyes narrowed. Her hostility appeared to be well justified, in light of the irresponsible behavior Russ had witnessed. “Let’s talk about who the real jerks at this party are, starting with—”

“Burger?” Hale proffered a plate, interrupting an incipient tirade.

The former Mrs. Simmons scowled as if she’d like to shove it down his throat. But she took the food.

Rachel was starting for the table when Connie intervened. “Go. Change. Now.”

“I’m hungry.”

“You should see what you look like.”

Rachel glanced at where the wet T-shirt revealed curves that some of the male officers were ogling with interest. “For heaven’s sake. You’d think I was Elise or somebody.” Glaring at the men, she groused, “Oh, all right,” and slogged away, limping a little.

Russ was glad he’d made a point of not staring. He couldn’t help noticing her tempting shape, especially not when his arms retained a sensual impression. Whoever Elise was, she couldn’t possibly compare with this woman.

“I wonder if I can still use that extension cord.” Hale sighed. “Hey, Doc, feel free to borrow dry socks and whatever.”

“Thanks.” Russ reached for his jacket just as, in the pocket, the cell phone rang. Although he wasn’t on call, the hospital operator might contact him in an emergency, so he excused himself and answered it on the way inside. “Dr. McKenzie.”

“Mike Federov. Can you spare a minute?”

“Sure.” Dropping the towel on a kitchen chair, Russ eased onto it. The somber note in his friend’s voice told him this wasn’t a casual call.

“Sorry to bother you on the weekend, but I figured you ought to hear this.” Mike explained that while visiting his parents, who had a wide circle of friends in West L.A., he’d just learned of a tragedy several weeks earlier that concerned Russ’s daughter.

Lauren’s grandparents had been returning from a weekend in Lake Tahoe with friends when their small plane crashed, killing everyone on board. Lauren hadn’t been with them, thank heaven.

Russ ached for the five-year-old girl, his daughter, who’d lost her family. At the same time, it occurred to him that the whole picture had changed. Concern twisted through him, followed by a tiny ray of hope. “Who has custody? Janine?”

“I hear she’s the guardian appointed in their will,” Mike confirmed.

“Is she…how’s it working out with her and Lauren?” He couldn’t imagine Janine rejecting her daughter at this stage. Still, having the girl thrust into her care unexpectedly must be difficult.

“Nobody seems to know.”

“She must be terribly upset about her parents. I’d like to offer my condolences.” Russ was eager to provide his ex-girlfriend with moral support. He’d always felt that he’d let her down years ago. Perhaps he could make up for that now.

Mike provided Janine’s phone number, which, with his usual thoughtfulness, he’d obtained in advance. He also said that he didn’t believe she’d ever married.

Russ thanked him and clicked off. He decided, however, to wait until later to call her. Better to clarify his thoughts first, and besides, this wasn’t an appropriate place for such a personal conversation.

He was debating whether to accept Hale’s offer of fresh clothing when Rachel emerged freshly dressed. She’d tucked wet hair behind her ears.

“Famished,” she noted as she snagged a handful of crackers. “Hey, Doc, you look cute damp. Ever try out for a wet T-shirt contest?”

“Not recently.” He grinned. Around Rachel, he felt surprisingly unselfconscious. He opted for declining Hale’s offer of dry clothes, except for the socks.

As they returned to the patio, the conversation with Mike kept invading his thoughts. Much as Russ yearned to spend more time with Rachel, his first priority had to be his daughter, and that meant doing whatever was necessary to assist her and her mother.

Until this tragedy, Lauren had had a stable two-parent family. Since apparently Janine remained single, Russ didn’t intend to let his little girl grow up without a father.

The more he reflected, the more determined he became not to shirk his responsibility a second time. And not to lose this chance to be part of his daughter’s life, whatever that required.

In the midst of her colleagues, Rachel appeared fully recovered, laughing and joking. Russ wondered if there was any way to see her again. But he couldn’t even consider it until he talked to Janine.

## Chapter Four

Rachel hadn’t been kidding when she suggested the doc enter a wet T-shirt contest, assuming such things existed for guys. With that shirt stuck to his chest and his hair as rumpled as if he’d just tumbled out of bed, he made her blood race.

“Thanks again for pulling me out of the drink,” she said as she drove him home.

“No problem.” His tone was subdued.

Where were his thoughts, anyway? If fate had a trace of mercy, they’d be focused on her. Normally, Rachel loathed having some guy rescue her butt, and that included the occasions when she and her fellow trainees had taken turns during Police Academy. But even in her dazed state—or maybe because of it—she’d gotten a rush when Russ hoisted her from the pool.

Strong masculine arms encircling her. Warm contact dissolving the chill. He smelled good, too.

Under other circumstances, Rachel might have contemplated the possibility of making love to the guy, but this wasn’t Joe Six-Pack. This guy did funny things to her nervous system, and his sophistication intimidated her a little. Getting involved might mean more than she was ready to handle.

All the same, no point in parting prematurely when they could be enjoying each other’s company. “So, you got plans for the rest of the night?” she asked.

Russ tore his gaze from the passenger window and frowned at the clock on her dash. “Is that accurate? My watch died. I thought it was later.”

In February, evenings always seemed longer due to the early darkness. “Yeah, it’s nine-fifteen. Kinda early to ditch a party, but you seemed antsy.”

At the party they’d viewed a DVD and part of a Lakers game, and had a go at the video console. When she’d noticed Russ’s concentration lagging, Rachel had suggested they decamp.

“Do you suppose it’s too late to place a phone call?” he asked. “I meant to wait till tomorrow, but I doubt I’ll be able to sleep.”

Aha, a clue to his preoccupation. “Depends on the time zone.” Unable to contain her curiosity, she added, “May I ask who?” A girlfriend, perhaps. Might as well hear the bad news sooner than later.

“Ex-girlfriend,” he responded.

The “ex” part appealed to Rachel. But if the woman was truly out of the picture, Russ wouldn’t be planning to call her on a Saturday night, would he? “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be nosy.”

To her right, at the old pickling plant, she observed a shadow moving and was about to slow down for a better look when a dog trotted into the lamplight. A short distance off, someone whistled, and the pooch dashed away.

To some cops, off-duty meant blind, deaf and dumb except in cases of dire peril. Rachel’s instincts, however, refused to hibernate on command.

“Do you know much about children?” the doc inquired. If the question related to his ex-girlfriend, he didn’t explain the connection.

“I volunteer at the local homework center. I did a lot of baby-sitting growing up, too.” Rachel waited for enlightenment. This had to be leading somewhere.

“How do you imagine you’d react if…” Russ hesitated. “What I’m about to say is confidential, okay?”

“Absolutely.”

“Suppose you’d had a baby girl and given her up for adoption, and then the adoptive parents died and there you were, raising this kid,” he ventured. “Suddenly your ex-boyfriend shows up and says he intends to be part of his daughter’s life. How would you react?”

Rachel didn’t hesitate. “Depends on the guy. If he was an abusive jerk, I’d seek a restraining order.”

“What if he was a decent guy who really cared about being a father?”

Did Russ mean…himself? “I’m not good with imaginary scenarios.” Another point occurred to her. “Anyway, if adoptive parents die, the care doesn’t revert to the birth mom.”

Ahead, Rachel observed a van weaving in its lane and was glad when it swung into an apartment parking lot. Home for the night, she hoped.

Russ cleared his throat. “You’ve probably realized by now that the father is me.”

Well, that certainly erased all doubt. “How did this come about?”

“Janine got pregnant while I was an intern, five years ago.” Warming to the subject, he described the decision to relinquish a child named Lauren and how he’d just learned of her grandparents’ deaths. “I have no idea what Janine’s plans are or whether there’s another guy in the picture. Frankly, that isn’t my concern. I simply want to meet my daughter and make sure she’s okay.”

Kind of late for that, sniped the rejected child inside Rachel. Still, in fairness, the infant hadn’t been old enough to miss her parents, and she’d gone to a loving family.

“My family takes in foster kids, so I grew up around them.” She saw no reason to trot out any additional personal details. “Here’s my opinion—she needs stability as much as love. So if you’re going to put in an appearance, you’d better be prepared to follow through.”

“That’s a good point.”

Russ resumed his window staring as she navigated into his housing development. Reaching the cul-de-sac, Rachel again noticed the coziness of his cottage. This guy must have been acting on nesting instincts even before he learned of the grandparents’ demise.

She hoped her remarks hadn’t discouraged him. The girl could do far worse than to gain a father like Russ. “Go for it,” she advised as the car halted.

“What? Oh. Fine.” He reached for the door handle.

“I wasn’t trying to boot you out!” She hurried to clarify. “I meant, don’t let Janine give you the brush-off. Drop by her place. Show that you’ve matured.” Painfully, Rachel concluded, “If you guys were in love once, maybe there’s something left.”

Pale moonlight traced the angles of his cheeks. “We weren’t in love. I’d been exhausting myself as an intern, and Janine was a business grad student with big ambitions. We both regarded the relationship as temporary.”

Rachel couldn’t imagine a woman landing a guy like Russ and not hoping to keep him. “There must have been chemistry.” They hadn’t conceived a baby while shooting hoops. “Also, you may have misjudged her feelings.”

“If so, she gave no sign of it,” he responded. “Nevertheless, I agree that I should have been more supportive. In any case, I’ll bet she regrets missing our daughter’s early childhood as much as I do.”

“You mean the grandparents banned her from Christmas and birthdays and all that stuff?”

A furrow formed between his eyebrows. “I doubt that.”

“So forget the guilt trip. If you want to be close to Lauren…but maybe you don’t.” A twinge of old hurt prompted Rachel to challenge, “If you’re easily discouraged, I guess fatherhood doesn’t matter much to you.”

“Who says I’m easily discouraged? Like hell!” Anger frayed his voice.

Despite the irritation directed at her, Rachel didn’t take it personally. “Then go for it!”

He opened his mouth as if to argue further, but stopped. “You’re quite a motivator. Ever coach Little League?”

“Naw, but I was on the wrestling team in high school.” She didn’t intend to get sidetracked by that story. “Call her now. To heck with how late it is.”

A smile eased the man’s intensity. “My bad temper doesn’t faze you?”

“You call that bad temper?” she scoffed. “I saw what you could dish out yesterday when I tried to cuff you.”

“You’re one of a kind.” He leaned toward her, and for one tingling instant she thought they might kiss. Instead, he said, “If you need someone to help knock off that case of beer in the trunk, remember where I live.”

Buddies. As if she didn’t already have enough of those. Still, Rachel liked the guy, and she’d rather be his friend than a stranger.

“Keep me current on what happens with Lauren,” she requested.

“You bet.” He waited while she scribbled her cell number on the back of a business card and handed it to him. “I’ll do that.”

“Great.” She lingered to watch him stride up the walk, enjoying the view.

She wondered about Janine. Petite? Curvaceous? He’d described her as a businesswoman, which meant a sharp dresser with salon hair. That must be his type. A million miles out of Rachel’s league.

On the way home, she wondered what it’d be like if she were reborn with a shape like, say, Elise’s. To collect wolf whistles without trying and discover flowers on your desk from secret admirers must be nice. But not having to fend off unwanted advances from an old coot like ex-chief Vince Borrego, who’d put the moves on Elise to the point that she’d filed an official complaint two years ago.

Viewing the complaint as disloyal, many fellow officers had given Elise the cold shoulder. She might have remained frozen out except that Joel Simmons had witnessed one of the incidents. He’d admitted as much in the course of an internal investigation into a second case involving allegations that a lieutenant, Norm Kinsey, had beaten a prisoner and that Chief Borrego had covered for him.

Some members of the force had considered Joel a traitor, too. Hale, however, had stood by his friend, and Rachel had discreetly supported both Joel and Elise. Eventually, Borrego had retired under pressure and Kinsey got fired. As the department struggled to heal its wounds under Chief Lyons, old enmities had been set aside.

On reflection, Rachel supposed being cute and curvaceous had its downside. Nothing wrong with height and heft and enough guts to win the case of beer jouncing in her trunk.

Her spirits rose as she hung a left from Arches Avenue onto the side street that led to her condo development, Archway Acres. She planned to spend an hour or so reading and enjoying a brew and then…

What was a fire truck doing in the parking lot? She glanced around for signs of a blaze or other emergency and spotted a couple of police cruisers. Beyond them, a half-dozen civilians were loading stuff into their cars.

Squinting in the light of a streetlamp, Rachel sought a reason for the apparent evacuation. She didn’t have to look far. On the door of each unit was posted a yellow placard.

Yellow tags required residents to leave, at least temporarily. That status was a rung below red tagging, which indicated homes slated for destruction.

Gloomily Rachel recalled the workmen inspecting the slope earlier. Pulling forward, she halted beside a patrolman she recognized. “Yo, Bill!” she called. “What’s up?”

He peered into her car. “Hey, Rache. You live here?”

“Yeah.” Or I used to.

“How was Hale’s party?”

“Awesome.” Enough small talk! “Well?”

A sympathetic grimace. “Inspectors found instability in the slope. The condo association’s going to hire engineers next week. We’re only letting people fetch their stuff with a police escort, but you can take responsibility for yourself.”

“Any chance of me sleeping here?” She ached to stretch out in her own bed. The odds of the slope collapsing tonight seemed minuscule.

“Sorry. No exceptions.”

Rachel itched to argue that this was her property and she had a right to stay, but she’d behave the same way in Bill’s place. A mud- or rockslide could crush people in their sleep; that had happened in several cities ringing Los Angeles. Public-safety personnel had to protect folks from a foolish sense of invulnerability.

“Thanks.” As she parked to one side, she wished she’d bought the biggest SUV on the market instead of this puny little roadster. She could only transport a bare minimum of possessions.

No way was she abandoning the beer, though. Her buddies would never forgive her.

RUSS HUNG HIS JACKET in the closet and tossed his wrinkled shirt and stiff pants into a hamper. Had his co-workers witnessed the usually reserved Dr. McKenzie diving into a pool and rescuing Rachel, they’d have buzzed about it for days. Amazingly the event had scarcely fazed the police officers.

As Russ pulled on a sweater and fresh pair of jeans, he pictured Rachel swooping around the concrete on that ridiculous bicycle. Her fearlessness suited a person who could never predict what might happen during a shift.

His anger about yesterday’s encounter had long since vanished. In fact, he had to admit she’d behaved reasonably under the circumstances.

And he’d enjoyed this afternoon and evening more than any experience in a long while. With her easygoing attitude, she deserved her colleagues’ obvious approval. Being around Rachel meant living in the moment and accepting a refreshing level of frankness.

How different from his own experiences! Russ recognized the barriers he’d erected between himself and almost everyone else. Perhaps as a result, people from the past appeared as blurry shapes—Janine, his parents, even himself at a younger age.

His most clearly defined memory of Janine remained her face when she broke the news about her pregnancy and decision to relinquish the baby. Stressed out, she’d been all sharp edges, from the pointed chin to the narrowed eyes. Besides that, he recalled only random details about his ex-girlfriend: shoulder-length brown hair, quick movements, an eagerness to reach the next step on the career ladder.

Her private emotions and goals remained an enigma. At roughly thirty-three, Janine had surely long since ceased to be the outgoing graduate student he’d met at a party shortly before beginning his internship. By contacting her now, he risked a messy entanglement of child support and recriminations. Diving into a pool to rescue Rachel had been easy by comparison.

Buoyed by her encouragement, Russ went into the kitchen, where the almost medicinal purity of the white walls and oak-accented counters soothed his mood. Sitting at the oak table, he pulled out a pad and pen to prepare for his conversation.

At the head of the list went a request for regular visitation, including the occasional weekend. In return, he’d offer financial aid and a college fund.

Russ set down the pen, disturbed by the legalistic harshness of the black-on-white agenda. This was neither a debate nor a negotiation. Mostly, he had to persuade Janine of how much a relationship with his daughter meant to him.

Initially, he’d experienced only relief about the adoption. That he might later regret the decision hadn’t crossed his mind.

He’d begun to think about her during his residency. Observing the development of babies, toddlers and preschoolers under his care had made him wonder about the well-being of his own child.

In a sense, Russ had watched her grow over the following months as he observed the changes in youngsters about the same age. Lauren became far more than an abstraction as he ticked off the months and the milestones, the first words that mothers reported, the humorous incidents that might parallel Lauren’s, the dawning self-awareness.

After age three, when overt signs of growth yielded to more-subtle mental and emotional gains, Russ had gradually ceased to keep track. But he continued to maintain an album of photographs sent him by appreciative parents.

Now he might finally meet Lauren and, perhaps, become her father for real. Yet their future together might well depend on a single conversation with a woman he hadn’t spoken to in five years.

When Russ fetched a glass of orange juice for his dry mouth, the glass felt damp in his hand. So much at stake. He wished Rachel had stuck around for moral support.

Close to 10:00 p.m. He’d better proceed.

After dialing the number, Russ listened to the rings. Two…three. Then a female voice said, “Yes?”

Although his voice threatened to stick in his throat, he plunged in resolutely. “Janine? Russ McKenzie. I just heard about your parents. I’m so sorry.”

A pause. Warily: “Thanks. What can I do for you?”

“I’m told your parents left you custody of Lauren. I’d like to help…financially, I mean. And to be part of her life.” He forced himself to stop rather than chatter on, and waited tensely.

“She’s five years old, not an infant. We can’t go back and rethink our decision.” A trace of irritation laced her tone.

He marshaled his powers of persuasion. “I’m aware this is unexpected. I have no desire to intervene in your life. Obviously you’ve moved on….”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Janine muttered. “Whatever you have in mind, drop it. You don’t factor into this picture, not one tiny little bit.”

Flat-out rejection. Russ refused to accept it. “I’m sure I’d react the same way if our roles were reversed. All I ask is a chance.”

“I make the decisions regarding Lauren. She’s my responsibility. You’ve been out of the picture for five years and that’s where you’re staying.”

He hung on to his temper. “I accept my share of guilt, if that’s the right word. And I’d have kept my nose out of this except for your parents’ deaths. Now I want to be part of planning her future. Until this happened, you weren’t planning on raising her, right? So it’s not as if I’m intruding into an established relationship.”

“I’m still not planning on raising her,” Janine replied testily.

The declaration caught him by surprise. “What do you mean?” Immediately and painfully, he recognized a possibility he’d overlooked: that another relative intended to step into the picture. An aunt or great-aunt, perhaps, who’d already grown close to Lauren.

“She can’t stay here. I’ve been like an older sister, nothing more. Even though my parents told her I was the birth mother, I’ve never—” Janine broke off to command, away from the phone, “Put that down! It isn’t a toy. Byron will have a fit if you break it!”

In reply, a little voice said, “I’m sorry, Janine.”

Lauren! Russ nearly stopped breathing. If he could, he’d rush to the other end of the line right now.

But who the hell was Byron?

“You’re supposed to be in bed,” his ex-girlfriend snapped.

“I got scared. Please come tell me a story.” The breathy uncertainty twisted his heart.

“In a minute. Go to bed.” Janine sounded angry, although he didn’t understand why. Perhaps the anger was intended for him rather than Lauren.

“Don’t forget.” A rustling noise faded as, Russ presumed, the little girl retreated.

Her distress vibrated through him. He ached to shout, Go comfort her! You’re her mother. Yet he was the last person with any right to criticize.

Janine spoke into the phone again. “Sorry about the interruption. You can see what it’s like here.”

“Who’s Byron?” He tried to pose the question casually.

“My fiancé. Our wedding’s in April,” she said tightly. “And if you think Byron’s thrilled about having a preschooler invade his house…He’s older than I am, by twelve years, to be exact. His kids are grown, and his plans—our plans—don’t include raising a child.”

Russ was so outraged he could hardly respond civilly. What kind of man simply cast out a child because of the inconvenience? But again, he was in no position to criticize. “Is she going to stay with another relative?”

“In case you’ve forgotten, I’m an only child,” Janine answered. “My only cousins live on the East Coast. One’s a single mom with two kids, another cherishes his wild bachelorhood, and there’s a couple I wouldn’t trust with a goldfish.”

“What are the options?”

“I’ve been talking with a lawyer about arranging an adoption. The world’s full of people with empty arms and beautiful homes.” The statement rolled off her tongue as if she’d rehearsed it. Or as if she were quoting someone. Probably, he guessed, the absent Byron.

“She’s a five-year-old, not a newborn.” The prospect of losing his daughter forever tore at his heart. “You may not love her, but you represent continuity. Being handed over to strangers…I can’t help believing that will traumatize her.”