Detective Daddy

She debated for a second whether to make his bed and straighten up, then immediately thought better of it. He’d probably think she was trying to get back in his good graces. Her best bet was to pick up her things and get out before he got home.

Her things. What had she left here anyway? She hadn’t moved in with him, so anything she’d left had been accidental. Sort of.

She shook her head in frustration as she looked in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom and found a soft-bristle toothbrush and a hair clip. In the nightstand she discovered her favorite watch, and on his dresser was a gold hoop earring she’d been sure she’d lost.

Had she subconsciously left these things here in hopes of reminding him of their passionate nights and the weekends they’d spent making love, sleeping, eating, watching a ball game or a movie and then making love some more? She couldn’t really deny it.

She stowed the few belongings in her purse and headed toward the front door. As soon as she crossed the threshold into the living room, the smell of the leftover pizza sent nausea crawling up her throat again. Holding her breath, she hurried into the kitchen and ran a glass of cold water from the refrigerator door dispenser and leaned against the counter, sipping it.

The cold liquid cooled her throat and lessened the nausea a little bit. But when she straightened, stars danced in front of her eyes and her head felt woozy. She knew the signs. Ever since she was little, those stars had preceded light-headedness and, if she didn’t sit or lie down immediately, fainting. She hoped she wasn’t going to see stars her entire pregnancy.

She took the water over to the kitchen table and sat down. She rolled the cold plastic against her forehead, hoping to clear her head and stop the dizziness. But the stars got brighter. So she rested her forehead on her folded arms—just for a minute, until the queasiness dissipated. Then she had to get out of here.

It wouldn’t be a good idea to be here when Ash got home.

ASH HAD JUST COME OUT of the grocery store when his phone rang.

“Hey,” a familiar voice said.

“Thaddeus, little brother. Thank God. I figured I wouldn’t hear from you for a week—or a month.”

“Well, the words family emergency sort of cut through the usual red tape. What’s going on? Is everyone all right?”

“Red tape? Are you embedded with the troops somewhere?” Thad was a photojournalist with a renowned news magazine, not a special agent. How much red tape could there be?

There was a brief pause, then Thad spoke. “Figure of speech,” he said. “So what’s the emergency? Is everybody okay?”

“Everybody’s okay, but I’ve got some bad news.”

“What?” Thad’s voice sharpened.

“The new D.A. here accepted the Campbell family’s petition to have Campbell’s DNA run against the blood and tissue they found under Mom’s fingernails.”

“The DNA?” Thad repeated. After a short pause he asked, “Well, it’s Campbell’s, right? I mean, it has to be.”

“I haven’t seen the results. I’m not even supposed to know about it.”

“Your girlfriend, the criminalist, tell you?” Thad knew about Rachel. Whenever he and Ash talked, he always asked who the new flame was and, feeling sorry for his brother, so far away from home and stuck taking pictures of death and devastation in one war-torn country or another, Ash always told him. But they hadn’t talked since he’d broken up with her.

“Ex-girlfriend, and she’s the one who ran the analysis,” Ash said bitterly as he tossed the grocery bags in the backseat of his car and got in the driver’s seat.

“Damn. That stings. Still, she’s the criminalist, right? So it’s her job. Have you told everybody? Or are you waiting for the results?”

Not for the first time, Ash questioned his judgment in letting his aunt and uncle, his brothers and his baby sister know about the petition. Should he have waited for the results to come back? “I told ‘em. Maybe I shouldn’t have.”

“How’d they take it? How’s Natalie?”

“Terrified. What would you expect?”

“Did the news trigger anything? Did she remember something?”

“No, I’m pretty sure it didn’t. She doesn’t seem to remember finding Mom and Dad at all. All she knows is what she’s been told about that morning.”

“Still—I guess she was pretty shaken up?”

“Yeah. I told her that she ought to see the shrink at Kendall Communications, but she still refuses.”

“I can’t blame her. I’m not so sure it would be a good idea for her to remember what she saw. I wish I didn’t have that picture in my head, and I was five years older than Nat. What about the others? Devin?”

“He’s sure the DNA will come back as Campbell’s, just like I am. Aunt Angie is just worried about all of us, but man—you should have seen Uncle Craig. I thought he was going to have a stroke, right there. I nearly had to wrestle him to the ground to keep him from calling the D.A.”

“Well, Dad was his brother.”

“Yeah, but his reaction was way over-the-top. His face turned purple and he had trouble breathing. Seriously, I thought he was going to stroke out on me.”

“But he’s okay?”

“Yeah. For now.”

“Ash, what if the DNA doesn’t match?” Thad asked.

Ash winced as if dodging a bullet that had struck too close for comfort. “It’ll match,” he said starkly.

“Right. But what if it doesn’t?”

Ash’s shoulders hunched against the question. “I don’t know. Hell, it’s been twenty years. I can’t even imagine that it won’t.”

He heard Thad sigh through the phone. “I know. But I don’t like what my gut’s telling me. Listen. I think I can break away. I’ll let you know when I can be there.”

“You don’t have to do that. There’s nothing you can do to change anything. I just thought you ought to know what’s going on.”

“Nope. I’ve decided. I’m due some time off. I’ll just need to clear it and then find a plane to hitch a ride on. That could take a while. I might end up having to ride with cargo. But I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”

“Great. It’ll be good to see you.”

“Hang on a minute,” Thad said. “You’re not getting away that easy. If Rachel’s status is now ex—big surprise—then who’s the latest flame?”

Ash grimaced. “There’s not one at the moment.”

“Not one? You’ve got to be kidding me. What? Did you two break up yesterday?”

“No. Two months ago.”

“Okay. First, I’m seriously impressed that you remember how long it’s been, and second—two months! That’s got to be a record. What’s the matter with you?”

“Maybe I’m taking a break,” Ash said wryly.

“Maybe.” Thad’s voice had changed. Ash would swear his younger brother was grinning. “And maybe you’re still hung up on her.”

Ash winced. “No. I don’t get hung up.”

“There’s always a first time, even for Ashton Kendall, confirmed ladies’ man.”

“Say goodbye, Thad,” Ash muttered.

“Goodbye, Thad.”

Ash hung up and headed for his house, frowning as he replayed his and Thad’s conversation in his head. Thad had always been able to read him. There was some truth to what he’d said. Ash hadn’t dated anyone since he had broken up with Rachel. He considered his brother’s comment and his own response. Of course he didn’t get hung up. But Rachel was the singularly most irritating woman he’d ever dated. Irritating and interesting.

He shook off those thoughts and concentrated on Thad’s other irritating quality—his ability to drill down to the heart of any situation. Thad’s other question replayed in his mind, the same question that had bothered him ever since he’d heard the news.

The question no one else in the family had asked—not Devin, not Aunt Angie or Uncle Craig and not Natalie.

What if the DNA didn’t match? What if Rick Campbell was innocent?

As ASH TURNED ONTO HIS street, he saw Rachel’s car in his driveway. He looked at his watch. Six-thirty. Damn it. She got off at five. She’d had plenty of time to get here, clear out her stuff and leave.

It wasn’t like he wasn’t already haunted by the ghost of her presence in his home, in his bed—a new experience for him. One he didn’t like. Did she think seeing her in his house would land them back in the sack? At that thought, his body tightened in immediate sexual response.

No! No way. He had let her down gently and moved on, same as always. He loved women, but he wasn’t interested in settling down. Ever.

He’d heard the talk. He knew what people—and by people he meant women—said about him.

Love ’em and leave ‘em—happy. It was true. The phrase summed up his attitude toward women in a nutshell. But since Rachel, he hadn’t found anyone he was interested in enough to ask out.

For a split second he considered turning around and leaving. Give her plenty of time to clear out. He could run over to the mansion, not to see his aunt and uncle, but to check on Natalie, who had moved into the roomy guest cottage a couple of years ago. He wanted to make sure she was doing okay.

Then his stubborn streak kicked in. This was his home. He wasn’t the one who should be leaving. Rachel was. He pulled up to the curb, leaving the driveway clear behind Rachel’s car.

Stalking inside, he stopped short when he didn’t see her. Not in the living room and not in his bedroom. But what he did see took him aback.

Damn, he’d left a mess. He’d had trouble falling asleep, ordered a pizza at midnight that he’d barely touched and then finally drifted into a fitful sleep around four-thirty. He took a deep breath and wrinkled his nose at the smell of cold, stale tomato sauce and cheese. He didn’t mind cold pizza, but he liked it from the refrigerator, not sitting out all day.

He picked up the pizza box and took it into the kitchen to throw into the trash. He stopped cold. Rachel was sitting at the kitchen table, her head on her hands, asleep.

“Rach, what the hell are you doing?”

She started, then lifted her head. There was a red patch on her left cheek where it had rested on her hand. “Wha—?” She blinked. “Oh, Ash. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Ash found himself caught by her eyes. He wasn’t sure what it was about those gold-green eyes with the reddish-brown ring around the edge of the iris, but he did know they had the power to make him think crazy thoughts—like how great it would be to fall into bed with her again, or how at thirty-three he was getting a little tired of the chase. How his flirtatious lifestyle wasn’t so much exciting these days as exhausting.

He shook his head to dislodge those thoughts that had been creeping into his mind ever since he’d cooled it between them. He had no intentions of changing anything about his lifestyle—which was why he wanted Rachel’s stuff out of here. He never brought women to his house and this was why.

Invariably, once a woman got a toe in the door, she started nesting—leaving things in his bathroom, his bedroom, sometimes even in his bed.

Plus, he didn’t like the silly twinge that squeezed his chest every time he opened his medicine cabinet and saw Rachel’s toothbrush.

“Well, you’re awake now,” he said ungraciously. “Did you get all your stuff?”

She nodded and stood, closing her eyes for a couple of seconds. She was pale as she picked up her purse. “I hope you don’t mind, I got—some water,” she said, sounding slightly out of breath.

Ash frowned. What was wrong with her? Was she upset that he’d told her to come and clear her stuff out of his house? He was the one who had a right to be upset, not her.

She stepped past him into the living room, muttering something that he didn’t catch.

“What?” he asked, following her.

She shook her head. “Nothing,” she muttered. “Nothing.” She hurried toward the door.

“Rach, wait a minute.”

She stopped without turning around.

“We never got to finish our conversation this morning.”

She turned. The red patch on her cheek stood out against her pale skin. “You call that a conversation? I’d call it an interrogation. You were really at the top of your game.”

Ash shrugged. He wasn’t happy with the way he’d acted, although for the most part, he felt like it was justified. Okay, maybe not slapping the table. “Why didn’t you give me the courtesy of letting me know you were running the DNA found on my parents’ bodies?”

“Come on, Ash,” Rachel said, sounding exasperated. “I didn’t know whose sample it was. It was a special request, with a one-day turnaround. Everything that could possibly point to a particular case had been redacted. You know how they do those things.”

“You should have known by the date,” he snapped. “How many twenty-year-old Christmas Eve murder cases do you think there have been in St. Louis?”

She leaned her head back against the front door and closed her eyes. “The date was redacted, too.”

“How about the fact that there were two victims, or—”

“Please, Ash. Even if I should have known, I didn’t,” she said, bringing her gaze to his. “Even if I had realized whose case it was, I couldn’t have told you. You know that. And this case was more sensitive than most. It was specially requested by the commissioner.”

“The commissioner?” Ash was shocked. It was the police commissioner who had granted the petition to reopen the case and have the DNA sampled, not the new D.A.?

Ash felt like he’d taken a blow to the stomach. His own boss hadn’t given him the courtesy of a heads-up. That stung.

Rachel was watching him closely. He shut his eyes for an instant, composing his thoughts and blocking the look on her face. She obviously hadn’t meant to say that much, because her lips were pressed together tightly.

“You’re sure? It wasn’t the D.A.?” he asked, even though he knew he hadn’t misunderstood.

“I can’t talk about this,” she protested. “I’m—I need to go.”

Her voice sounded strained, more strained than it should have, given their conversation. He wasn’t about to let her leave until he had all the answers he needed. “No. Not yet. What did you find? What were the results?”

Rachel turned the knob on the door, but her fingers slipped. “I—can’t—”

He stepped toward her. “Rachel, did the DNA match? This is my parents’ murder we’re talking about. I need to know!” he demanded.

“Ash, stop it. You know I can’t tell you anything.”

“This is me,” he said, thumping his chest. “I was asleep down the hall while that man murdered my mom and dad. My baby sister found them on Christmas morning. She was six years old. Six. Can’t you understand what this means to me—to my family?”

He was so close to her now that he could see sweat beading on her forehead. Her face had lost all its color, and her lips were pinched so tightly together that their corners were bluish-white.

“Rach?”

“I—can’t,” she gasped. “I just can’t—” She turned and tried again to twist the knob and open the door. But her fingers slid off.

“Ash—?” she whispered. “Help—”

And she collapsed.

Chapter Three

By the time they got to the hospital, Rachel was alert and begging the EMTs to let her go home. But to Ash’s relief they didn’t pay the least bit of attention to her.

She’d only been unconscious for a few minutes, but it was long enough to scare the spit out of him. One second she’d been turning the knob on his front door and the next, she’d collapsed directly into his arms. He’d lowered her gently to the floor and made sure she was breathing, then he’d tried to wake her, but she’d been out cold.

He’d called 9–1–1 and identified himself as a detective with the Ninth District of the St. Louis Metropolitan Police Department, and ordered an ambulance.

By the time he’d hung up, Rachel had stirred. But she was nearly incoherent, so he’d made her stay on the floor and cradled her head until the EMTs got there.

Now he was pacing the waiting room floor like an expectant father as he waited for the doctor to finish examining her. They’d probably run a bunch of tests. Hell, they could be here until midnight.

A woman—who’d been sitting in the waiting room knitting ever since the nurse had deposited him in this drab little room that smelled of old coffee—looked up at him. “Your wife?” she asked.

Ash stared at her for a second, uncomprehending. “Uh, no. A coworker.”

“A coworker?” the woman said meaningfully, then she held his gaze until he relented.

“And you?”

“My son,” she said. “He came home tonight with a bloody nose. He got into a fight.”

“It’s broken? How old is he?”

She nodded with a sigh. “He’s thirteen. Old enough to know better, but not old enough to restrain himself.”

Just then a nurse appeared in the doorway. Ash and the woman both turned to her.

“Mr. Kendall?”

He stepped forward.

“Ms. Stevens is ready to go. You can follow me.”

“What happened? Is she okay?”

The nurse gave him an odd, knowing look. “I’ll let her tell you all about it.”

The nurse led him to a cubicle and slid the curtain back. “Here you go, Ms. Stevens. I’ll send the aide with the wheelchair.”

“I don’t need a wheelchair.”

The nurse looked at Ash, who nodded, then turned back to Rachel. “Oh, I think you do. We don’t want to take a chance that you might faint again.”

Ash felt a jolt of relief to see that Rachel had color in her cheeks. She looked a hundred percent better than she had when he’d brought her in.

“You look like a different person,” he said. “What did the doctor say?”

Rachel busied herself with her purse. “My blood sugar was low.”

“That’s all? You passed out because you hadn’t eaten?” Ash’s anger rose again, this time because he knew she was lying. Her answer had been too quick, too flip.

“That’s not exactly how low blood sugar works,” she retorted, “but basically, I guess you could say that.” She wouldn’t look at him, just kept rummaging in her purse until the aide came with the wheelchair.

She was definitely hiding something. A sudden thought sent a pang of fear arrowing into his gut. Was something wrong with her? Something serious? No, that wasn’t it. The nurse hadn’t seemed worried or sad. She’d seemed more—secretive, as if she knew something he didn’t know.

The aide kept up a stream of conversation, or more accurately, prattle, all the way to the emergency entrance. As the wheelchair turned the corner a few steps ahead of Ash, he heard a deep voice call Rachel’s name.

He turned the corner in time to see that the owner of the voice was in a white lab coat with a stethoscope around his neck. He was shaking Rachel’s hand.

“—and congratulations,” he said with a smile before he hurried away.

Congratulations? Why would any doctor say that to a patient?

He thought back to the nurse’s secretive look.

Oh, hell. Ash could think of only one reason for the medical staff’s reactions, and that reason sent lightning bolts of shock all the way to his toes.

There weren’t many things Ashton Kendall was afraid of. He’d discovered on that fateful Christmas Eve so long ago that life was too short to spend it in fear.

He’d transformed the grief and fear that he’d learned way too young into fierce determination. He’d turned the helplessness and anger into a hunger for justice and a career. And finally, he’d filled the empty place in his heart with a casual, carefree charm that earned him lots of dates and friends without getting him into an emotional tangle.

But he wasn’t sure if he could face what he’d just been hit with.

Was he about to become a father?

RACHEL’S HAND FELT NUMB where the doctor had shaken it, but it was not as numb as her heart. She waited without breathing to see what Ash was going to say. She knew he’d heard the doctor because she could feel his gaze boring into her back. Besides, she didn’t dare look at him. If he hadn’t already figured out what the doctor had meant by his congratulations, he’d see it written all over her face.

About that time, he walked past the wheelchair.

“I’ll get the car,” he said shortly as he stalked toward the elevators without looking back. He sounded just like he had when he’d found her asleep in his house.

Downstairs, he helped her into the car with an offhand gentleness that confused her. And he didn’t say anything on the drive back to his house, where her car was still parked in his driveway. But he kept glancing over at her, a bemused expression on his face.

Once he’d pulled to the curb and parked, he turned toward her. “I guess congratulations are in order,” he said evenly.

Here it came. Rachel bit her bottom lip and stared at her hands, which were clasped in her lap. His words hovered in the air, demanding an explanation.

“So that’s why you fainted?” he went on. “You’re pregnant.” His voice sounded strained. “Why did you think you had to lie to me about the low blood sugar?”

She squeezed her interlaced fingers together. “It wasn’t a lie exactly. I’ve always had problems with low blood sugar.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. He just looked at her. “So how far along are you?”

Her head snapped up. “Checking the time frame?” she asked bitterly.

He shrugged and dropped his gaze. His jaw quivered with tension.

“I’m eight weeks pregnant. My ob-gyn told me I probably conceived around the last week in July. His guess is July 22.” She threw the date down as a challenge and waited to see what Ash said.

He knew as well as she did the exact date he’d broached the subject of seeing other people. She’d never been a maudlin person, but that date was branded on her brain. It had been Saturday, August 7, two weeks after their honeymoon-like trip to New Orleans. He’d couched the conversation in terms of friends talking about what they had planned for the fall, but Rachel had recognized it for what it was—the casual, charming brush-off. It had been nine days later when she’d realized she was pregnant.

Now she met his gaze. “But in case you’re wondering, I didn’t rush out and find myself a new man the next day. In fact, I haven’t found one at all.”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“Look, Ash, I have no intention of making demands on you. I’m choosing to have this baby and it’s my decision and mine alone. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Listen to me. If it’s my baby, then I will take responsibility for it.”

Rachel didn’t hear what he said after the word if. She stiffened. “If?” she repeated. “If? You don’t believe me?” There came the tears, clawing their way up from her throat. She swallowed hard. “Well, that makes all of this easier.”

She opened the passenger door and got out. She felt Ash’s hand brush her elbow.

“Rach, wait. Of course I believe—”

But she kept going. Right to her car. She climbed in, started the engine and backed out of the driveway. When she turned the corner, heading toward her own apartment, Ash was still sitting in his car at the curb.

ASH DOUBLED HIS FIST and took a swing at the steering wheel. His hand stung, but luckily, his car was sturdy enough to withstand the blow.

Idiot! How in hell had he let Rachel get pregnant? Of course before the question even formed, he knew the answer. He remembered it as if it were yesterday. Friday, July 22. They’d flown down to New Orleans for the weekend. They’d had a couple of Hurricanes, the deceptively sweet drink so popular on Bourbon Street. They’d gone back to the hotel and made love—a lot.

When Ash had woken up the next morning, he’d vaguely remembered rolling over deep in the night and coaxing Rachel awake. They’d done it two more times. It had been spontaneous and satisfying and—he now knew for sure—without benefit of protection.

He cranked the car and drove to the mansion, bypassing it and heading straight for the guesthouse, where Natalie lived. On the way he called her and asked if she was decent.

Natalie had on a black T-shirt and drawstring pants with red chili peppers on them. She’d twisted up her long blond hair into a knot.