The Return of Connor Mansfield

“Please, Ms. Kent, don’t cry. I’m so sorry this is happening to you.” The man’s nasally voice softened with compassion. She almost believed his sympathy was real. “This is all standard company procedure. I promise. Please know that I will do everything I can to see that all of your claims are processed in a timely manner. I want your daughter to recover. Truly I do.”

Darby couldn’t answer. Her throat was too clogged with emotion to breathe, much less speak.

“I’m sorry for upsetting you. I know you’re dealing with a lot.” He sighed again. “Alone.”

She frowned. How did he know she was alone?

“I wish...” he continued in a low voice, the nasal twang gone again. “I wish I could do...something to help. I—”

Darby stilled. Her heartbeat slowed. Without the nasal affectation, his voice sounded so familiar. She shook her head. It was just her turbulent emotions playing with her mind. Wishing. Longing...

“Actually, there is something you can do,” she said.

“What’s that?”

“Get yourself on the National Bone Marrow registry if you aren’t there already. The doctors say my baby’s best chance to beat this disease is a bone marrow transplant, but we need a donor. Her uncle was close, but not close enough.” Darby sighed. “It’s a long shot you’d be a match, but maybe you’ll be able to save some other mother’s baby.”

Silence answered her request.

“Mr. Orlean? Are you there?”

“Yes...I’m—I’ll do that. I’ll get on the registry this afternoon. I swear.”

“Good. Thank you.”

“I...have the doctors said...would her father have been a suitable match?”

A chill tripped down Darby’s spine, along with regret and fresh waves of grief. “Kind of a moot point since he died before she was born. That information should be in her file.”

“Yeah, I guess... I—”

Darby shifted her weight, uncomfortable with the personal nature of Mr. Orlean’s questions and tone. “Why do you ask?”

“I just...well, I thought, maybe...” He fumbled awkwardly, the nasal voice back. He sounded truly contrite, and Darby closed her eyes. The man sounded as if he really cared about Savannah’s plight, and she appreciated that he wanted to be more than just a cold company drone at the other end of the line.

“For what it’s worth, I bet he’d have been a match,” she blurted, not knowing why she was going down this road with a perfect stranger, other than the fact that the subject had preoccupied her mind for weeks. “She inherited so much from him. From his dark hair and light brown eyes to his stubborn streak.”

What if Connor were alive? Would his marrow have been able to save their child? She shook her head and shoved the what-if aside. She’d never know that answer. Connor was gone.

* * *

I bet he’d have been a match.

Connor rocked back in his desk chair and squeezed his eyes shut. Frustration and regret gripped his chest and twisted painfully. His daughter needed him. Needed his marrow.

“I have nothing to base this on other than my own speculation, of course,” Darby went on, the sadness in her voice almost more than he could bear.

When she’d started crying earlier, it was all he could do not to blurt out the truth and jump on the first plane back to Louisiana.

“But Savannah got so many other traits from her father, why not marrow type, too?” She paused for a humorless laugh. “And since Connor’s brother has some of the same markers and is a partial match, it seems reasonable to me that Connor would be a closer match. Right?”

Connor. He gritted his teeth, swallowing a groan of anguish. She’d unwittingly confirmed what he suspected, but hearing his name on her lips again was a sweet agony. The precious details about his daughter were like manna that he feasted on, but painful to hear, as well.

He had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Sounds reasonable.” He grimaced, realizing he’d forgotten to mask his voice again.

She grunted, and he heard shuffling noises. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m boring you with all this. I need to get back to Savannah. I think I hear her waking up.”

He heard a door squeak, a muffled, “Hi, Miss Priss. Did you sleep well?”

Connor held his breath and squeezed the phone, treasuring the tiny glimpse of the life he’d left behind. The life he ached for every waking minute and dreamed of every moment he slept.

If he slept.

A tiny, distant voice answered. Sweet, plaintive, so young. “It ouches, Mommy.”

Savannah. His daughter.

His baby needed him.

But going back to Lagniappe, leaving WitSec and reclaiming his old life would be suicide. More important, he could put Darby and Savannah in jeopardy.

“I have to go,” Darby said. “I don’t know if I’ve helped you settle anything, but I hope...well, that you’ll do the right thing. Goodbye, Mr. Orlean.”

He heard the click of the call disconnecting, then sat staring at the phone in his hand for long minutes after Darby was gone.

Do the right thing. Years ago he’d done what he believed was the right thing and “died” in order to protect his family and Darby. Now, to save his daughter, would he have to come back from the dead?

Connor went to a local medical lab that same afternoon, requested his blood be analyzed for bone marrow matching and gave the lab directions to send his contact information along with the results of his test to Savannah’s doctor in Lagniappe, flagged for comparison with Savannah’s blood. Roughly thirty-six hours later, his cell phone buzzed while he was in a morning meeting. Seeing the name of Savannah’s doctor on his caller ID, he excused himself from the meeting to take the call.

“Mr. Orlean, this is Dr. Allison Reed in Lagniappe, Louisiana. I received a set of test results yesterday from a lab in Dallas that you asked be compared with a patient of mine.”

“Yes, ma’am. Darby Kent’s daughter, Savannah. Am I a match for a bone marrow transplant?”

“As a matter of fact, you are a fairly good preliminary match.”

Connor gave a silent fist pump, and his heart rate leaped. “That’s great!”

“I have to ask, how did you know you might be a match?” Dr. Reed asked. “What prompted you to send us your results?”

“I...” He hesitated, knowing he couldn’t tell the doctor he was Savannah’s father without blowing his cover. “I didn’t know. More like hoped I’d be a match, I guess. So what’s the next step? What do I need to do?”

“I understand that you are in Dallas, but if there was any way you could come to Lagniappe, I’d like to have a face-to-face consult with you and do a few more blood tests.”

“Go to Lagniappe?” His heart sank. Returning to his hometown, even for a little while, meant risking someone recognizing him. Meant putting his new identity on the line. Meant putting his life—and potentially Darby’s and his family’s lives—in danger if one of the Gales’ henchmen spotted him. “Can’t I have the blood tests here? Can’t I make the marrow donation here, should it come to it?”

“Well, yes. Technically you can, but I really prefer to have at least one face-to-face consult. And if we are able to go ahead with a transplant, I’d much rather have my team harvest your marrow here. I take a very hands-on approach.” She chuckled. “My husband has other names for it. But I work best when I can oversee every phase of a transplant.”

“Oh.” Connor pinched the bridge of his nose. Hell.

“Is there a problem? Is there a reason you can’t come to Lagniappe, Mr. Orlean?” Dr. Reed asked. “Because if you’re not fully committed to the possibility of being Savannah’s donor, it would be better that we not raise the family’s hopes—”

“I’m committed,” he interrupted. “I’m absolutely committed.” He’d figure out a way to get to Lagniappe, whatever it took. Maybe the U.S. Marshals, who’d set him up with his new identity, could provide him a cover or a disguise to get him in and out of Lagniappe when needed. “When do you need me there?”

“Can you be here Friday?”

“I’ll find a way.”

“Good,” the doctor said. “In that case, I’d like you to get more blood drawn tomorrow. I’ll send you the address of the center where you should go. They’ll start a more detailed DNA study and send me the results in time for your consultation here Friday.”

Connor clenched his teeth, dreading the meeting with the U.S. Marshals, fearing what might happen if his cover was blown. But he had a daughter. A sick little girl who needed him. He would go to Lagniappe—hell, he’d eat glass or take a bullet to the gut in order to save his daughter’s life.

Chapter 2

“I need to go back to Lagniappe.” Connor cast a side glance to the men on his couch as he paced his small living room in Dallas. “Just for a day or so.”

“You can’t do that, Sam,” Deputy U.S. Marshal Gerald Raleigh, a fiftyish man with thinning hair, a long, jowly face and the body of an aged football player, countered. “The program only works if you—”

“My name is Connor. Not Sam,” he argued, feeling peevish.

Raleigh sighed. “Connor Mansfield is dead. You’re Sam Orlean now, and if you want to stay alive—”

“I understand what going back there means. But I found out today that I have a daughter.”

Raleigh exchanged a startled glance with his partner, Deputy U.S. Marshal Jamal Jones. “How did you hear about your daughter?”

Connor stiffened and faced Marshal Jones. “You knew about Savannah?”

Jones, an African-American of approximately Connor’s age, with closely shaved hair and a short Vandyke, didn’t answer, but the twitch of muscle in his jaw and self-conscious lift of his chin said all the federal marshal didn’t.

Raleigh dragged a hand over his face. “How did you find out?”

Connor bit out a curse. “You knew, and you didn’t tell me? What right did you have to keep something like that from me?”

“For exactly this reason,” Raleigh said. “That part of your life is over, Sam, and knowing about your daughter would have only made it tougher to—”

“She’s sick. Or did you know that, too, and not tell me?” He divided a glare between his handlers and ground his back teeth until his jaw ached. “She has cancer and needs a bone marrow transplant. I may be her best chance for a match.”

Jones shook his head. “I’m sorry, Sam. But Gale’s men are still a threat to you. They could be watching Darby Kent’s house, waiting for you to show up. We’ve been monitoring Darby since you entered the program, in case Gale or his men made a move on her. That’s how we knew about the baby.”

Connor shook his head, confused, a chill coiling in his gut. After everything he’d sacrificed to protect Darby, could Gale’s men still be watching her?

“Why would they watch Darby if they believe I’m dead? She had nothing to do with Gale’s prosecution. You said you tied up all of the loose ends. I’m officially dead, right? So why—”

Jones raised a hand. “Connor Mansfield, witness for the state, is officially dead. And as long as you stay dead, there is little chance Gale can find you. You are safe, and Ms. Kent will be safe.”

“But if you suddenly come back from the dead,” Raleigh added, leaning forward and poking the coffee table for emphasis, “your cover is blown, you become a target again and you put Darby and her daughter in the line of fire.”

“Our daughter. She’s my flesh and blood, too!”

“Exactly.” Raleigh spread his hands. “So why would you put her in danger by returning from the dead? Think about her safety—”

“I am thinking of her!” Connor shoved his hands through his hair, gritting his teeth in frustration. “Savannah could die if she doesn’t get my marrow!”

Jones stood and jangled the keys in his pocket. “You don’t know that you’re a match.”

“What if I am?” Connor blew out a heavy sigh. “I have to try to save her. I can’t sit here, knowing she needs me, knowing I might be the one who could save her life and not do anything!”

“I understand your frustration and concern, Sa—”

“Do you?” Connor spun to face Raleigh. “Do you really understand? Giving up the woman I loved to enter the program nearly killed me. Not a day goes by I don’t think about chucking it all and going back, consequences be damned. Darby’s safety is the only reason I haven’t gone back before now. My life means nothing without her.”

“Sam, I know it is hard to leave behind—”

“You had no right to withhold the truth from me!” Connor jabbed a finger toward Raleigh, punctuating his point. “If I’d known I had a daughter on the way, I don’t know if I’d have ever agreed to entering WitSec without Darby.”

Jones shook his head. “We’ve explained why that was a bad idea. To make it believable that you’d died—”

“—the woman I loved had to believe I’d died, too. Yeah, yeah. I remember your reasoning, but...” Connor turned to pace again. “But things are different now. My daughter is sick. I have to go back.” He planted his feet and squared his shoulders. “I have an appointment Friday with Savannah’s doctor. There’s a chance I could be a marrow donor for her, and the doctor insisted on a face-to-face consult and more tests.”

Raleigh shook his head. “Sam...”

Connor firmed his resolve. “I have to try to help Savannah.”

“Even if it puts all of your lives at risk? Not just yours, but Darby’s and Savannah’s. Your brothers. Parents. Anyone close to you could be at risk, because Victor Gale hasn’t forgotten the man who brought down his father’s money laundering scheme and put ole Pop behind bars. He has a history of vigilante justice and revenge against those who cross his family.”

“I’m aware of that, but I am going. The question is, will you help me get in and out of town without detection?” When his handlers hesitated, Connor dropped heavily onto a wingback chair and propped his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. “I’ll be careful, use disguises. But I can’t sit here, knowing I have a daughter who needs me. Savannah will die without a transplant.” Connor gritted his back teeth and revisited the option he’d rejected years ago, for Darby’s sake. “Is it too late for Darby to join WitSec with me?”

Even as he asked, his gut tensed, knowing what a difficult move that’d be for Darby to make. Asking her to give up her life, her family, her home to be with him would be so horribly selfish. Did she even love him anymore? Perhaps she’d moved on, found someone else...

Raleigh grunted. “Hiding a child who’s as sick as Savannah would be highly dangerous, full of pitfalls. Besides the high level of medical care she needs, tracking you through her medical records, through treatment facilities would be far too easy. There’d be too many doctors and nurses and other patients involved who could talk and blow your cover, even if accidentally...”

“So then I have no choice. My mind is made up.” Connor divided an even stare between the two marshals. “I know the risks. I hate the risks, of course, and I’ll deal with them somehow. But my baby needs me, so I’m going home. I’m going to save my daughter.”

* * *

That Friday, with help from her longtime friend and almost-brother-in-law Hunter Mansfield, Darby packed Savannah’s bags, preparing to take her daughter home following the last chemo treatment. When her cell phone rang and the caller ID showed Dr. Reed’s office, she assumed the call was about Savannah’s discharge papers and directions concerning her at-home care. Darby answered, relieved to have the chance to ask questions. She hadn’t felt this nervous about taking Savannah home from the hospital when she was a new mother with a one-day-old baby.

Hunter had Savannah distracted, animating her stuffed rabbit to make her laugh as Darby took Dr. Reed’s call. “Hello?”

“Darby, it’s Jillian Evans in Dr. Reed’s office.”

“Oh, hi, Jillian.” Darby smiled hearing the friendly voice of the nurse who’d been so helpful and supportive in recent months. “We got Savannah’s discharge papers, and we’re just getting ready to leave the hospital now.”

“Oh, great, but...that’s not why I’m calling.”

Darby heard an odd note of apprehension in Jillian’s voice, and her gut immediately clenched. Bracing for bad news—God, she was tired of bad news—Darby said, “Go on.”

“Well, Dr. Reed asked me to call you about some rather confusing information we have regarding a potential donor for Savannah.”

Darby’s spirits lifted. “You have a potential donor?”

Hunter’s head jerked up, and she met his hopeful gaze as she listened to the nurse explain.

“Well...yes. Dr. Reed will call you later to tell you more about that, but...” Elation made Darby’s head spin, and her heart pounded so hard she almost missed Jillian saying, “But his test results show something that has Dr. Reed puzzled.”

“Puzzled? What’s wrong?” Like being on a roller coaster, her stomach swooped, her mood crashing from high to low again. Here we go. The bad news...

“The DNA tests that show that he is a strong candidate as a donor also say, with statistical certainty, that he is Savannah’s father.”

The air froze in Darby’s lungs. “Wh-what? That’s impossible. Connor is dead.”

Hearing his brother’s name mentioned, Hunter rose to his feet and hurried over to Darby, pressing his ear close as she tipped the phone for him to listen in.

“That’s what Dr. Reed understood from your records, which is why she wanted me to call. Are you sure about who Savannah’s father is? Is it possible this other man—”

“No! There was no one else. I don’t sleep around, if that’s what you’re asking.” Darby’s hand shook, and she dragged in a breath, trying to make sense of what the nurse was telling her. “Your test is wrong. This guy can’t be Savannah’s father. Connor Mansfield is Savannah’s father, and he died four and a half years ago.”

“Of course we can run the test again. Dr. Reed just wanted to double-check with you, in case maybe...”

“But if the test was wrong about him being Savannah’s father—” Darby held her breath, tears pricking her eyes “—does that mean it was wrong about him being a match for her, too?”

“We’ll have to see. It’s just all so odd, especially since he initiated contact with us about being a donor.”

Darby’s legs buckled. “He did?”

Hunter squeezed her arm, supporting her, but his own face was paler than normal.

“Who is this guy? Where is he from?” she asked.

“He’s from Texas, I think. Don’t worry, Dr. Reed will screen him and assess if he’s a nut job or if he’s truly a viable donor. In fact, she’s meeting with Mr. Orlean now, and she’s requested new tests, pending what she learns in her consult with him.”

Darby blinked. Shook her head as if she’d heard wrong. “Wait. What did you say his name was?”

“Sam Orlean. Why? Do you know the name?”

“I—maybe. It rings a bell but...” She fumbled through her memory. A classmate? A customer of Mansfield Construction? No. It was more recent. Darby looked at Hunter, and he shrugged and shook his head, silently denying any familiarity with the name.

She dredged up the call earlier in the week from her insurance company. Was that where she’d heard the name? She replayed bits of the call in her head, trying to conjure the man’s name. But other pieces of the conversation were what stood out.

Would her father have been a suitable match?

I’m sorry, Dahr-by.

“Connor,” she said under her breath, not daring to hope. And yet...

Her imagination raced, and just the possibility that Connor might still be alive made her dizzy with expectation. The need to know, the demand for answers pounded through her like a tribal chant. Connor. Connor. Connor.

“As soon as Dr. Reed gets out of her meeting with him, I’ll have her call you with—”

“Then Sam Orlean is still there, at your office right now?” Adrenaline made her pulse pound so hard in her ears, she could barely hear, much less think. Connor. Connor. Connor.

“He’s in with the doctor, discussing his test results and—”

“Don’t let him leave.” She squeezed the phone tighter and hurried to grab her purse from the chair by the bed. “Stall him. I’m on my way.”

“But—”

She hung up before Jillian could object and sent Hunter a pleading look as she rushed to the door. “Will you stay with her? I have to know.”

“Of course,” Hunter said, his expression reflecting his own shock and need for answers.

Darby jogged down the hospital corridor to the elevator. Dr. Reed’s office was in a medical building a couple blocks away. She debated taking her car but decided that by the time she got to the parking garage, dealt with traffic and red lights and parked again, she’d get there faster on foot.

On the elevator, she pushed the lobby button again and again as the car descended, as if it would make the elevator go faster. She knew better, but her nerves jangled, and she needed something to do until the doors parted at the lobby. Hiking her purse higher on her shoulder, Darby flew out the front door of the hospital and made a beeline for Dr. Reed’s office. She dodged people on the sidewalk, wove through cars to cross the street and took the stairs at the medical building rather than wait on another slow elevator.

By the time she raced through the door of Dr. Reed’s office, she could barely catch her breath. Though she’d run track in high school, she’d let herself get out of shape in recent months, while dealing with Savannah’s illness.

She approached the receptionist desk, panting. “Sam...Orlean? Jillian said...he was...here.”

The receptionist looked up and smiled at her, but when she saw Darby gasping for air and sweating, her smile fell away. “Um...he was here. But they just left.”

Darby’s whole body sagged, dejection sandbagging her. “He left? I told...Jillian to...stall....”

“Darby.” Jillian appeared behind the receptionist, frowning and shaking her head. “I tried to keep him here, but when I mentioned you wanted to meet him, he got agitated, and they left in a big hurry.”

She stiffened. “They? He had...someone with him?”

“Yeah. A big guy. Light brown hair. About fifty. Clean-cut and—”

Darby waved her quiet. “Never mind. How long ago did they leave?”

“They just did. Seconds before you got here. I’m sorry—”

Darby spun back toward the door, leaving her purse, encumbering ballast, on the receptionist’s counter. Heart in her throat, she sped back down the stairs, but this time made her way toward the parking garage. She had to have at least a glimpse of this man whose DNA tests were so confoundingly wrong. Unless...

He initiated contact...

Dahr-by...

She slammed through the heavy door to the parking garage and skidded to a stop on the concrete landing. From the slightly raised vantage point, she could better see over the top of cars on this, the main deck of the garage. She swept a glance down each aisle and spotted three men, an African American, a tall man with light brown hair and a raven-haired man with a beard, sunglasses and baseball cap.

“Mr. Orlean?” she called, her breathless shout drowned out by noise from the street below. She hurried down the steps and chased after the men. “Mr. Orlean?”

She stared at the back of the man in the cap as she ran to catch them. The broad shoulders and confidence in his stride seemed familiar, though his hair was many shades darker than Connor’s.

She closed the gap between them before trying again to get their attention. “Mr. Orlean! Please, wait!”

The man in the cap stiffened, slowed. When he started to turn, the black man beside him glanced over his shoulder and pushed the dark-haired man toward a silver sedan. With the fob in his hand, the tall, older man clicked the locks off and opened the back door of the sedan. With a jerk of his head, he motioned for the man in the cap to get in the car.

They weren’t just ignoring her; they were escaping from her. Puzzled and more than a bit miffed, Darby shouted again, “Wait! Sam Orlean, I need to talk to you!”

When she reached the silver sedan, the black man tried to block her path, but she shoved past him. She grabbed the arm of the man she believed was Sam Orlean as he tried to climb in the backseat. “Wait!”