Daddy With A Badge

Provided they had a defendant and a solid enough case to take in front of a jury.

“Dr. Fabrizio seems pretty darn stable to me. Took the worst a lot calmer than most.”

Rafe snorted. “Oh yeah, that sprint to the can looked real calm.”

Gresham offered a reluctant grin. “She did look a little green at that.” His grin changed to a frown. “Morning sickness, right?”

“Probably.”

On the other hand he’d also seen burly, hard-eyed men toss their cookies after an emotional hit like the one he’d just given her. Laying it on her cold had been a tactical error, he realized now. Guilt bunched into a sick ball in his belly. Much as he hated to admit it, he had a strong feeling he’d rushed things because he wanted to spend as little time as possible in her presence.

“What now?” Gresham asked.

“We ask our questions, give her a list of contact numbers, and catch the red-eye back to D.C.”

Gresham started to say more, but the sudden click of the bathroom lock had his gaze slicing toward the door. As she emerged and walked toward him, Danni gave them a quick smile designed to reassure. Instead, Rafe felt a jolt of alarm. Instead of queasy, she now looked truly ill. Her lips were pale, her hair damp around her face, and her eyes seemed glazed.

“Sorry about that.” Despite her wan appearance, her tone was brisk, one professional to another. He recognized her need to retain her dignity at all costs.

“No problem.” Rafe straightened and dropped his arms. Without the power suit and fancy high heels she seemed more like the mischievous hoyden with the metal grin and bubbling laugh who’d stolen his heart years before she’d blossomed into a beauty.

“Feel better now?” Gresham asked while watching her warily, as though expecting her to upchuck onto his shiny hand-sown Italian loafers.

Her too-pale lips curved. “Fine. I appreciate you being so patient.”

Oh yeah, she was fine all right, Rafe thought, narrowing his gaze. If fine meant looking wrung-out and hollow-eyed. Despite her bedraggled appearance, however, she still managed to project enough sex appeal to have him shoring up walls he’d once considered impenetrable.

“Aren’t you too far along to still be having morning sickness?” he asked more curtly than he’d intended.

“Actually morning is the only time I don’t get queasy.” She forced a laugh. “Luke says it’s not all that unusual for a woman to have morning sickness through the second trimester.”

In a deliberate effort to reassure her he broke his own rule and combined the personal with the professional “You probably don’t remember, but Mom had to be hospitalized for dehydration while she was carrying Carlos.”

Her mouth turned up at the corners. Damn, but she still had the most kissable lips he’d ever seen. “Actually I do remember, but only because while she was gone, I had to fix dinner three nights in a row before Papa got fed up with canned soup and grilled cheese sandwiches and took us all out to Napoli Gardens.”

“Canned soup and grilled cheese would have been a treat compared to the stuff I managed to throw together for the kids and me while she was gone,” he said with a smile of his own. “I still hate rice and beans.”

Her eyes twinkled, and he grieved for that besotted boy who’d believed in fairy-tale endings. “Don’t tell Aunt Gina, but I feel the same about red sauce.”

“Since your aunt Gina would sooner refuse an audience with the Pope than spend even a moment in my presence, I think your secret is safe.”

Her expression sobered. “She meant well, Rafe. From her point of view I had been promised to Mark in my cradle and my…infatuation with you frightened her.”

Emotions he neither welcomed nor completely understood swam through him. It was tougher than he’d expected, hanging on to even the most justified resentments when the woman in front of him was looking more fragile with every breath she took.

“Come on, let’s get some food in you before we get to those questions you promised to answer.” He tucked his hand into the small of her back and started to guide her toward the living room. She took a few steps, and then faltered.

“Danni?”

She turned her head up to look at him, and her fingers closed over his arm, her nails digging in. She licked her lips, then took a shaky breath. As he looked down at her, her sloe-dark eyes glazed over, and her lashes fluttered like little dark brushes.

Alarm jolted through him as he curled one arm around her back. Bad guys he could handle. Even lousy memories that made him bleed inside were manageable, but a pregnant woman clutching him as though her very life depended on hanging on tight had him going ice-cold with panic. “Danni, talk to me,” he demanded. Pleaded. “Is it the baby? Are you in pain?”

“No pain. It’s just…I’m…sorry, Rafe, but I’m terribly afraid I’m going to…uh…I think…oh, hell.” And then, just like that she crumpled against him like a limp, sad-faced rag doll.

His heart slamming with more than simple panic, Rafe scooped her into his arms and felt her settle bonelessly against him. Her cheek was pressed against his chest, her lashes resting on her cheeks and her mouth softly parted as though in a sigh, giving her a poignantly vulnerable look that pushed a lot of buttons he’d thought he’d disconnected long ago.

“Damn, this is turning into a disaster,” he muttered, tightening his grip.

“Worse,” Gresham replied, looking far from composed. “What do you think? 911?”

God! “Yeah.”

“Phone’s in my jacket,” Seth said before hurrying into the living room. Rafe followed at a more careful pace.

“Hold off a minute,” he ordered as Seth flipped open his cell phone. He figured five to ten minutes for 911 to respond versus a quick trip across the street to fetch her own doctor. He ran their recent conversation through his mind, sifting for the name. “She said her doctor lived across the street, right?”

Seth shot a fast look toward the window facing the side street. “Yeah, she did say that. Almost seems like Fate.”

Rafe dismissed that with a scowl. “Jarrod, I think she said his name was. He’d be the best one to see to her if he’s home. If not, then we’ll go with 911.”

Luke Jarrod had been a physician long enough to recognize panic when it flashed in a man’s eyes—even a buttoned-up government type carrying a badge and an official looking ID.

He’d been settled deep in the ancient recliner Maddy considered mud ugly but grudgingly permitted house room, with his sleeping son curled like an exhausted angel in his lap, watching the Mariners play the Yankees when the guy had rung the bell.

While the agent paced the front walk, he’d tucked Ollie into his crib, kissed his sleeping wife on her cheek, and then because he never forgot to be grateful she was in his life again, kissed her one more time before collecting his bag from the closet shelf and hauled ass.

Knowing his Maddy girl the way he did, it was a pretty good bet she’d be spitting cat furious when she found out he hadn’t roused her to help out a fellow member of the Mommy Brigade. He hated it when he had to play the tough guy, but he’d deal with it.

After nursing a cranky two-year-old through his first bout of the flu, she’d come down with it herself. The worst was over, but both needed their rest, and he was just the man to see they got it.

A sliver of lingering blue sky rode over the growing twilight to the west as he cut across Morgan’s prized lawn, the preppy agent with the Yankee blue-blood name a half-stride behind. The guy’s ID looked genuine, but what did he know about government agencies? Now, the nine-millimeter pistol he’d seen when the guy’s coat flapped open, that was about as real as real got these days.

Not a suspicious man by nature, Luke had become intensely protective of Danni and her daughter. The other guys of the Row felt the same way. Though no one said the words out loud, each was privately hoping he’d be the first one to lay eyes on that bastard Sommerset if he dared show his face.

As soon as he got her checked out, he intended to give Case a quick call and ask him to use his cop’s connections to find out what was going on. Right now, though, Danni needed his professional expertise more than she needed a surrogate big brother.

By the time Luke bounded up the front steps of the Paxton place, he’d run through everything he had retained from the notes he’d taken during Danni’s last few visits.

Nineteen weeks gestation, no abnormalities, good fetal heart sounds, due for an ultrasound on her next visit. Other than frequent bouts of morning sickness, it had been a routine pregnancy.

“Door’s unlocked, Doc,” Gresham said quickly, but Luke had already shoved it open.

Inside, a tall, superbly built man in his late thirties, early forties stood guard over the sofa where Danni lay unmoving. As Luke had entered, one large hand had gone instinctively to the weapon riding on his hip before his piercing green eyes had spied the medical bag.

“Dr. Jarrod?”

Luke was neither surprised nor intimidated by the brusque tone. A man accustomed to command was a controlled man, and a controlled man was a useful ally if things turned sour.

“I’m Jarrod,” he said, clipping his own words. “Who are you?”

“Rafael Cardoza.”

Neither wasted time on a handshake.

“What have you done for her so far?”

Guarded green eyes cut back to the sofa. “Nothing other than the cold compress on her head.”

“Did she complain of pain in her head?” Luke asked quickly.

“No, she just said she was feeling woozy, then went out fast.” He flicked a glance toward his partner who confirmed his account.

“She did look a little green before the lights went out.”

“Is it serious, do you think?” Agent Cardoza asked tersely.

“Too soon to tell.” Luke set his bag on the coffee table, then went into the kitchen to wash his hands.

“She spent a lot of time in the can throwing up,” Cardoza told him when he returned. “Wouldn’t let me in to check on her.”

“Any idea when she ate last?”

“No. She had some tea.” His gaze touched the mug on the coffee table.

As Luke listened to Danni’s heart, he felt those eyes boring into his back. “Has she showed signs of coming around?” he asked as he slipped the stethoscope beneath her shirt to listen to the baby’s heart.

“Her lashes fluttered and she moved some when I put her down. Since then, nothing.”

Danni’s heart rate was steady and strong, but faster than he would have liked. The baby’s rate, though, was smack in the safe range. He checked her pupils, then reached into his bag for the electronic thermometer that was God’s gift to overworked doctors and nurses.

He frowned at the read-out—101.6.

Mentally reviewing his findings, he returned the thermometer to his bag, then turned to face the silent agent. “Give me a rundown on what was going on before she passed out.”

With an economy of words that Luke appreciated, the agent systematically chronicled the events leading to Danni’s collapse. “Since she hadn’t complained of pain and didn’t seem to be having contractions or hemorrhaging, I figured she’d rather have you look her over.”

The reasoning was flawless—and surprisingly intuitive. Either the man had medical training or he had more than a nodding familiarity with expectant moms. “Do you have children of your own, Agent?” he probed.

“No children, but I helped raise my five brothers and sisters.”

“I figured you must have had some experience with pregnant ladies.”

Cardoza smiled briefly. “Just my mother. Probably forgot more than I remember, though.”

“Remembered enough to check for serious problems, which is the important thing.” Luke knelt again and touched Danni’s cheek.

“Danni, can you hear me? It’s Luke.”

She frowned, then licked her lips. “Mmm.”

“Danni, open your eyes, okay?” He took her hand and rubbed her wrist.

“What’s wrong with her?” Cardoza demanded, his voice gruff.

“Flu, combined with overwork, I suspect.”

“Is it serious?”

“Can be, if it leads to complications. Danni’s basically healthy, but stress can wear down even the healthiest person.” Reluctantly, he dug into his bag for an ampoule of ammonium carbonate.

Instantly, Cardoza went on alert. “What’s that?”

“Smelling salts,” he said as he broke it open. As soon as he waved it under Danni’s nose, she screwed her face into a knot and jerked her head to the side. Her lashes fluttered, then lifted.

“Luke?” she asked drowsily. “What…is it the baby? Oh my God—”

Luke rested a hand on her shoulder. “Easy, Danni,” he said in a soothing tone. “The baby’s fine. You just fainted, that’s all.”

Still disoriented, she lifted a curious hand to her forehead and frowned when her fingers encountered the folded dish-towel. “What’s this for?”

“That stubborn head of yours,” Luke said, his voice as stern as he could make it which, he had to admit, bordered on scary when he really concentrated.

Annoyed at the rebuke, Danni turned her head too fast and cried out at the sharp biting pain behind her eyes.

“Headache?” Luke asked gently.

She wanted to deny it, but the look in his eyes told her it would be a waste of time. “Like alligator teeth gnawing at my brain,” she admitted wearily.

Luke studied her with sympathetic eyes. “How about chills? Muscle aches? Nausea?”

“All of the above.” Damn, damn, damn. “It’s the same thing Maddy had, isn’t it?”

“Sounds like it, yeah.”

Danni didn’t even have the energy to produce a decent groan. She lifted the towel that was as hot as she was and handed it to Luke. As she did, her gaze fell on Rafe who was standing with his legs planted wide and his hands splayed on his lean hips, watching her impassively. It was a typical Rafe stance, she realized with a nearly unbearable feeling of nostalgia.

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