Chapter Two
Shoes would have been a good idea.
And, maybe, a coat.
Willow eyed her still-frozen toes, rubbed her chilled arms, and told herself that the hospital wasn’t nearly as cold as it felt. Mind over matter. That’s what this amounted to. She just needed to imagine that she was somewhere warm and dry and comfortable, and she’d feel better.
The problem was, she wasn’t somewhere warm or comfortable.
She was soaking wet and freezing, pacing the empty NICU waiting room. She hated the hospital scent, the ammonia floor cleaner and the lemony furniture polish that thickened the air. She hated the nighttime quiet, the empty corridors, the shadowy doorways. She could swear she heard someone crying. Not a baby. A woman, the soft sound so faint it might have just been her imagination.
But probably not.
This was a hospital.
A place where people came for second chances, for healing, for help, and, sometimes, to die.
As a prosecuting attorney for King County, she’d interviewed many crime victims in hospitals. She should have been used to the tears, the sadness that often seemed to hang in the air. She should have been used to the silence and the hallways and the doorways that opened into darkened rooms.
But there were memories in those things. There were secrets hidden in the dark corners, whispers lingering in the silences.
She shivered, her teeth chattering as she rubbed her arms more vigorously. If she asked, a nurse would probably find her a blanket, but the nurses in the NICU were busy, and asking would require stepping out into the long hallway filled with all those closed doors.
“You’re being ridiculous,” she muttered, swinging toward the door and screaming as a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped into view.
Jax.
His identity registered before her scream died, and she blushed. She was a grown woman hanging out in a hospital waiting room. She should not be screaming because a man appeared in the doorway.
“Holy crap,” she said. “You scared me!”
As if it needed explanation. As if the scream hadn’t been clue enough that she’d been terrified.
“Sorry.” He stepped into the room, his hair dark with melted rain, his cheeks ruddy from the cold. “How’s everything going?”
“With the baby? I haven’t heard anything since they brought her into the NICU.”
“The baby, and you. Are doing okay? You look a little pale.” He was a foot away, his eyes a mix of gray and blue that reminded her of tropical beaches and the honeymoon she and Ken had been planning a lifetime ago.
“I’m a redhead. Pale goes with the territory.”
“There’s pale and then there’s what you are,” he responded. “Which is about as white as I’ve ever seen a living, breathing human being. How about you sit for a few minutes while I go see what I can find out about Baby Doe?”
“I’d rather come with you.” She tried to add energy and life to her voice. She failed miserably. She hated that. Hated being vulnerable or needy or scared.
“Suit yourself. I can’t promise anything, though. Usually, they only let family into the intensive care, but we might be able to change their minds since she has no family. At least not any family that we can contact.” He shrugged out of his coat and draped it across her shoulders, tugging it closed, his knuckles brushing her collarbone and sending heat through her chilled blood. She felt it like she felt the cold floor beneath her feet and the tepid air chugging out of the heating vent.
He must have felt it, too. He’d stilled, his hands falling away, his eyes looking straight into hers. Her pulse jumped, but Jax was just a guy she’d gone to school with, someone who’d known her before and after, but who didn’t know her anymore. Whatever she was feeling, it was more to do with fatigue and adrenaline than the man who stood in front of her.
At least, that’s what she was going to tell herself.
He finally stepped away, and she could breathe again. Only she’d never realized she wasn’t breathing, and she was suddenly dizzy, suddenly desperate to drop into one of the vinyl-covered chairs. Jax was moving away, and she’d said she was going with him, so she followed, moving across the room and out into the hall. Her legs were wobbly, but she didn’t fall.
A small victory, but after the last few days of failure after failure in the chocolate shop, she’d take it.
Earlier she’d gotten as far as the double doors that led into the NICU. Now she waited while Jax pushed a button on the wall and the doors swung open.
A nurse sat at a tall counter a few feet away, staring at a computer screen and scribbling something on a notepad. She looked up as they approached.
“I’m sorry,” she said before either had a chance to speak. “Unless you’re family, visiting hours are over.”
“I’m here on official business.” Jax flashed his police badge and a smile. The nurse glanced at the badge and took notice of the smile. Of course, she did. Jax had that kind of smile and that kind of looks. The kind that seemed dark and dangerous and a little mysterious. It was the scar. And the eyes. The strong line of his jaw, the sharp edges of his cheekbones. A chick magnet. That’s what he’d been called in middle school and high school. He’d been the only freshman invited to senior prom. The way Willow had heard things, he’d been invited by four different girls. He’d turned them all down.
It might or might not have been true.
She’d been preoccupied, struggling with nightmares and fear and anxiety.
A long time ago.
Sometimes she had to remind herself of that.
“Is this regarding Baby Doe?” the nurse finally managed to say. She seemed a lot more eager to help now, her dark eyes alight with interest.
“Yes,” Jax responded.
The nurse typed something into the computer, then scanned the screen. “She’s currently in radiology having a sonogram of her heart. They should be back up shortly. Or, if you’re in a hurry, you could go down and wait. I’m sure one of the doctors will speak with you when they wheel her out.”
“I’ll do that.” Jax smiled again. “Has anyone else asked about the baby?”
“In the fifteen minutes since she arrived? No.”
“I’d like you to call me if anyone aside from law enforcement does.” He slid a business card from his wallet and handed it to her.
She scowled, apparently no longer enamored with Jax’s smile.
“Do you know how busy I am, Officer”—she glanced at the card—“Deputy Gordon? I work twelve-hour shifts with barely enough of a break to pee. I don’t have time to call your office every time someone shows up asking about that poor kid.”
“Someone left her behind a Dumpster. In the rain. With nothing but a thin blanket to keep her warm. I want to find that person, because there isn’t a human being on this planet who deserves to be tossed away like that.”
Her face softened, the hard lines of irritation smoothing away.
“I’ll call.” She tucked the card into her pocket. “You can wait in the NICU lounge or you can head down to radiology. Like I said, they should be finished there soon.”
“Thanks,” Jax said, cupping Willow’s elbow as he turned away. Under normal circumstances, she’d have shrugged from his grasp and forged her own path. She planned to go to radiology, and she was perfectly capable of making it there on her own.
But these weren’t normal circumstances.
Everything felt odd and off and strange, and for a moment, she let herself enjoy the contact—his hand on her elbow, his arm brushing her shoulder. He was taller than her by several inches, and she felt protected in a way she never had when she was with Ken.
Ken who’d called her twice since she’d left Seattle, who’d asked how she was doing and made small talk because he’d felt obligated. They’d promised that they’d stay friends after they broke up.
After all, they’d been together for eight years. Nearly a quarter of their lives. There was no need to cut the bond completely. Like Willow had told Addie—Ken was a nice guy. They got along well.
But the calls? They’d felt awkward and forced, the silences in the conversations stretching out a little too long. Ken was dating someone else. He’d met April four months ago, and they were already planning a fall wedding.
Funny how that had happened.
Or not.
Four months of dating, and Ken and April were committed to forever together. Eight years of dating, six years of living together, and Willow hadn’t gotten more than a half-hearted “we should get married” from the man.
Not that she’d wanted more.
Obviously.
She’d been the one to break the engagement just a few months shy of their wedding. She’d been the one to pack her bags and leave the house they’d shared for six years.
And she’d been the one to decide that she didn’t want another relationship.
So why was she walking through the hospital, with Jax’s hand on her elbow? Why was she enjoying it, for God’s sake?
“Thanks for your help tonight,” she said, easing away.
“Are you going home?” he asked, raising one sandy-brown brow.
“That would be difficult to do, since I don’t have my car.”
“Have you called your family?”
“Not yet.” And she didn’t plan to. Adeline and Brenna were both busy with their new families. Granddad needed his sleep. And Mom . . .
Yeah. Janelle would be a problem.
“Then would you mind if I get your statement now? That will save you a trip to the station tomorrow. It will also help expedite the release of information to the public.”
“How much are you planning to release?”
“Enough to catch people’s attention. The make and color of the car, a picture of the baby.” He fished a small notepad from his shirt pocket and wrote something on the page. There were faint scars on his knuckles and a longer, deeper one that sliced across his palm and wrapped around the side of his hand.
Defensive wounds. Not something she’d realized when they were kids, but her work had taught her a lot about violence and its aftermath.
“You did see a car, right?” he prodded, and she realized that he’d seen the direction of her gaze, that he was trying to draw her attention away from the old scars.
“Yes, but I can’t say for sure that the baby was ever in it.”
“We’ll figure that out. Did you get the make or model? The color? A partial or full plate number?”
“It was an old Plymouth or Chrysler. Long hood and trunk. You know the kind? Maybe nineteen-sixties or seventies. Not sporty or a roadster. Just old. Dark blue or black.”
“We’ve got about a dozen of those in town, and I’m not sure how many are stashed away in barns outside of town. It’ll be interesting to see how many calls we get about the vehicle.”
“I’m guessing hundreds.”
“That’d be a call from just about everyone in Benevolence.”
“I know. People like to be part of stories like this.”
“It’s not a story, Willow.” He tucked the notepad away. “It’s a life.”
She knew that. Just like she knew that people would want to help. People in Benevolence. People in every town nearby. Small towns. Big hearts. Lots of gossip. Someone somewhere knew something.
It was just a matter of time before everyone else did.
They were walking again, his boots tapping against the tile floor, the dark doorways to either side of the hall making Willow’s skin crawl. She’d overcome her fear of the dark and of halls and of doorways years ago. She’d gone to therapy. She’d talked it out. She’d done breathing exercises and meditation and all the things she’d been told to do to let go of the trauma.
But trauma never really went away. It just hid in the back of the mind, waiting for an opportunity to show itself. Returning to the Chocolate Haven had been the perfect conduit for that. She’d get over it again. Eventually.
They stepped onto the elevator, and she could see herself in the stainless-steel doors—drowning in his coat, hair tangled around her face, the damp cuffs of her pajama pants dragging on the floor.
She didn’t look like Willow Lamont, Prosecuting Attorney.
She looked like a drowned rat.
She scraped her hair back into the ponytail holder it was escaping from and pulled her damp pajama top away from her skin. She felt clammy and cold and tired, but she wasn’t leaving the hospital until she knew the baby was going to be okay.
“You look fine,” Jax said, and she realized he was watching her, his expression unreadable.
“I’m not worried about how I look.”
“You were fixing your hair.”
“I don’t want to scare the baby,” she lied.
He smiled at that, the edges of the scar puckering. “It would take a lot of makeup for someone as gorgeous as you to scare a kid.”
If another man had said it, Willow would have thought he was flirting, but Jax had never been flirtatious. Not even in high school when girls were falling all over themselves to get his attention. Maybe the years had changed him. They sure as heck had changed her, but she was looking straight into his eyes and all she could see was the man who’d pulled a tiny baby from behind a Dumpster.
“I am my mother’s daughter. I like to be presentable,” she admitted. “She’d be appalled if she saw me out in public like this.”
“Guess it’s good you didn’t call her then.”
“Janelle means well,” she said, jumping to her mother’s defense despite the fact that Jax wasn’t criticizing her.
“Your mother has a good heart,” he agreed. “She’s been great to Vera and Jim.”
“How are your aunt and uncle?” she asked, anxious to turn the conversation away from her appearance, her family, her life.
“Vera is doing well. Jim is frustrated. He wants to do more than he can. The stroke took a lot out of him.” The doors opened, and he took her arm, ushering her out into another long, empty hall. “Fortunately, he has really good friends who’ve come up with creative ways to get him out of the house. The week before last, your grandfather took him to an antique car show in Spokane. Byron probably told you all about it.”
Actually, he hadn’t.
She’d been busy trying to clear her desk, clean her house, stop her mail, and do all the other things that needed to be done before leaving home for two weeks. Plus, she hadn’t wanted to get into protracted conversations about how long she planned to stay in Benevolence.
Forever was the only thing Byron wanted to hear.
It was the one thing she would never say.
“Did Jim have fun?” she asked rather than explaining how busy she’d been, how unable to listen to Byron’s stories.
“He always has fun when he’s with your grandfather. Jim says they’re planning another day trip while you’re in town.”
“Really?”
“Byron didn’t mention it?”
“No, but we’ve been busy at the shop.” And she’d been distracted. Frantic. Trying so hard to get back into the rhythm of the business that had supposedly been bred into her. She knew how to make chocolate, for God’s sake! She’d learned the art before she’d turned ten. Byron always said she’d taken to it like a fish to water, like a bird to the air, like a drunk to cheap whiskey. The last part always annoyed Janelle and made Willow smile.
The fact was, she had taken to it. She’d loved working in Chocolate Haven. She’d understood everything there was to know about making delicious fudge.
Once upon a time.
Now though . . .
Now she’d been failing. Over and over and over again.
“I’m sure he’ll tell you about it soon.”
“It better be really soon. I’m only in town for nine more days.” Not a day or hour or minute longer.
“The way Byron tells it, you’re here for good.”
“Who is he saying that to?” They rounded a corner, following signs that pointed the way to radiology.
“Jim and Vera. I’m sure most people are like me and figure he’s exaggerating.”
“I do have a job, Jax, and a house and a life away from Benevolence.”
“There’s no need to explain or to justify.”
She told herself that all the time, but she always felt the need to do it anyway. She’d been the Lamont sister everyone had expected to take over the shop.
She’d failed their expectations.
She’d failed her grandfather.
Some days she thought she’d failed herself.
They reached the radiology department—a closed door with a sign hung from it. HOSPITAL STAFF ONLY.
“Might as well have a seat,” Jax said, motioning to a couple of vinyl chairs shoved up against the wall. “A heart sonogram could take a while.”
“The nurse said they’d probably be finished soon.” She dropped down beside him anyway, grabbing a magazine from a scuffed table and thumbing through it. It was that or make small talk, and she’d used up her daily quota of that about three hours after she’d arrived in Benevolence.
“You okay?” Jax asked, and she realized the magazine was upside down, and that she was staring at the page like it might contain the secrets to the mysteries of the universe.
“Just wishing I’d seen the driver of the car. Or the license plate number. Or—”
“Wishes are dreams without action,” he cut her off.
“What?”
“My mother used to say that. A lifetime ago.” He took the magazine, turned it right-side up, and handed it back.
“Your mother must have been very wise,” she responded, surprised that he’d brought up his past. She’d heard bits and pieces of his story, but not all of it and not from him. Jax had always been notoriously silent about what had happened to him and to his family.
“She was. At least, all my memories of her make me think she was. It’s been a long time. It could be I’ve made a portrait of a saint out of a picture of a very ordinary woman.”
“I’m sorry, Jax.”
“Yeah. Me too, but that won’t change it. Besides, I’ve had a pretty good life, a pretty great one, really. Aside from that one major blip, I have nothing to complain about.”
He pulled his phone out, and she knew the conversation was over. Maybe he’d said more than he’d wanted to, or maybe was afraid she’d ask questions that he didn’t want to answer.
Whatever the case, he texted someone and she went back to staring at the magazine. She had her phone. She could text Brenna or Adeline. Heck, she could text her mom. Janelle would be at the hospital in two shakes of a stick, taking control, making sure things were done properly.
But she didn’t really want any of them there.
She wanted to be quiet for a couple of seconds and think about what had happened. A baby in a crate behind a Dumpster, and she was knee-deep in the drama. That wasn’t something she wanted, and it sure as heck wasn’t something she could have anticipated.
“Willow!” a man called, and she looked up, expecting to see Byron or maybe Brenna’s husband, River. She sure wasn’t expecting to see Randall Custard, but there he was in all his overinflated glory. Hair gelled back from his Botoxed forehead, brows shaped about as perfectly as anyone’s could be. The owner of the Benevolence Times and a self-proclaimed lady’s man, Randall had always been cocky, self-assured, and annoying.
Based on the fact that he was snapping pictures without her permission, she’d say he hadn’t changed much.
“Randall,” she responded, standing up as he approached. “It’s been a while.”
“Not so long. We saw each other at May’s wedding. Remember?”
“How could I forget? You posted a lovely shot of my sister in her beautiful bridesmaid dress on the front page of the paper.” It had been a horrible photo—payback for the fact that Addie had refused Randall’s invitations to dinner.
“Right.” Randall had the good grace to blush. “I’ve changed a lot since then. I won’t post any pictures of you without your permission. Of course, I hope”—he raised the camera and snapped two more shots—“that you’ll give it. You too, Gordon.” He turned, lifted the camera.
“Don’t,” Jax said quietly.
Randall lowered the camera. “What?”
“I don’t want my picture on the front page of the paper, Randall, so don’t bother taking one of me. Did Kane contact you?”
“That’s why I’m here. I plan to run the story in the morning paper, but I need the baby’s picture and other pertinent info stat.” He snapped two more pictures of Willow and then aimed at the door. “Is the baby injured? What condition was she in when you found her? Is this an abuse case or just abandonment?” He fired off one question after another, and Jax didn’t answer any of them.
Finally, his voice trailed off, and he cleared his throat. “Kane said you planned to fill me in.”
“I do.”
“Anytime you’re ready, Gordon,” Randall snapped, obviously irritated, “I’ll be happy for you to do it.”
“There’s not much information.” Jax took out his notepad and read the description of the vehicle verbatim.
“Hold on. Hold on,” Randall muttered, fishing in his pocket and pulling out a pen. “I need to take notes.”
“That’s it,” Jax said.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, that’s all the information we have.”
“You don’t think I’m going to believe that, do you? I’ve been a journalist for over a decade. I know when someone is keeping information from me. I can read a person like an open book. I can see through a lie—”
He was cut off by the radiology department door. It swung open, and a nurse pushed an Isolette out. She stopped short when she saw them, her dark eyes flashing with irritation as she glanced at Willow, then Jax, and finally Randall.
Or maybe his camera.
She pointed to it and frowned. “We’re not talking to the press.”
“I’m here on official business,” Randall intoned, his voice about two octaves deeper than it had been before. The nurse was attractive. Randall was between wives. Obviously, he hoped to impress her.
“The press is always here on official business.” She pushed the Isolette past, and Willow caught a glimpse of the baby—fuzzy hair, tiny bluish fingers and toes. “We still don’t talk to them.”
“What I’m saying,” Randall persisted, “is that the police have asked me to get a photo of the kid.”
“The kid is a newborn baby.”
“That’s what I meant.”
“Might be what you meant, but it wasn’t what you said.”
“Hun—”
“The name is Honor, and just because I’m telling you, doesn’t mean you should use it all of the time. Now, if you folks will excuse me, I have to get Little Miss back up to the NICU.” She jabbed at the elevator button, her nails short, her cuticles ragged.
“Honor, I’m Deputy Jax Gordon with the Benevolence Sheriff’s Department.” Jax followed her onto the elevator and Willow did the same. She was hoping that Randall had realized he wasn’t wanted, but he stepped on behind her, crowding into her space and making the breath freeze in her lungs.
She hated being crowded by people.
She especially hated being crowded by men.
She stepped back, bumping into Jax in the process.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
“Relax,” he responded, his breath ruffling tendrils of hair that had escaped the ponytail holder again.
She resisted the urge to fix her hair, to step away from Jax, and to cower in the corner of the elevator until the doors opened. She did not resist the urge to get a closer look at the baby.
She leaned close to the Isolette, watching the rapid rise and fall of the infant’s chest.
“She’s still a little blue,” she said to no one in particular.
“Are you family?” Honor asked.
“I found her. Well”—she glanced at Jax—“we found her.”
“The doctor will have to decide what information to release, but she will probably keep you informed since you saved Little Miss’s life.”
“I’d like to get a photo of the baby,” Jax cut in. “We want to release it to the press.”
“We’ll do that upstairs. This little munchkin needs to eat.”
“That would be a great shot!” Randall crowed. “The sweet little baby being fed by the beautiful young nurse.”
“Not going to happen. I already told you, the police will take the photo.” The doors opened, and Honor marched off, beelining it to the NICU doors. She paused there, jabbing her finger at Jax and then Willow. “You two can come on back. You”—she pointed at Randall—“stay here.”
For once, Randall didn’t argue or try to get his way.
He handed his camera to Jax. “Better get a good shot. That baby has parents, and those parents have family and friends. I want to run a nice, clear picture in the morning paper to give people a chance to recognize her.”
Jax said something, but Willow was already following Honor into the NICU, and his words were lost as the doors swung closed between them.
* * *
Jax was tired.
That was the problem.
He’d worked graveyard all week because Aunt Vera had had meetings at church almost every day and she hadn’t wanted to leave Uncle Jim alone. Jax didn’t mind helping. He didn’t mind being tired or working graveyard or having the last call of his night be a complicated one.
But he wasn’t a fan of Randall Custard, and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with him. The guy was a pompous ass who’d been born into money and had spent the entirety of his life throwing that fact around. He’d been married too many times to count, trading in the woman du jour every couple of years. He ran a tiny little newspaper in a tiny little town and thought he could rival any major newspaper in any major city.
And he annoyed the hell out of Jax on the best of days.
Today wasn’t the best, and Randall’s rambling explanation of how to get a good photo of the baby was making it worse.
“Tell you what,” Jax said, cutting into the monologue, “I’ll take a picture on my phone and text it to you.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Sure I can.”
“If you want the best quality photo, use this.” Randall thrust the camera into Jax’s hands. “It cost a fortune. Be careful with it.”
“Right,” Jax muttered.
“And maybe you could put in a good word with that nurse.”
“About you?” Jax managed to keep the irritation out of his voice, but he couldn’t hide the surprise. Honor was at least a decade younger than Randall. That wasn’t as big of an issue as her intelligence would be. She seemed smart, and smart women usually didn’t go for guys like Randall.
“Who else? You’re not thinking of making a play for her, are you?” he asked, his voice dripping with suspicion.
“Women aren’t a game.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s my answer. Wait here. I’ll bring the camera out once I get the shot.” He slapped his palm against the silver push plate that activated the door and hurried into the NICU.
He was anxious to get the photo.
He was more anxious to get away from Randall.
“Are you looking for Baby Doe?” the nurse at the desk asked. She was sitting in the exact same position she’d been in when he’d spoken to her before, ramrod straight in her chair in front of a computer.
“Yes. Her nurse said I could go back to the NICU.”
“I guess we’re bending the rules tonight.” She sighed. “Go on back. Third door to the right. You’ll have to wear scrubs. Honor can hook you up.”
“Thanks.” He walked past the desk and into the silent corridor. Nighttime in the hospital was always lonely, the shuffle of feet and the quiet swish of mops on the floor interspersed with squeaky-wheeled medicine carts being pushed through the empty hallways.
He’d been eleven years old the last time he’d spent the night in a hospital, but he still remembered what it was like to wake to the quiet blip of the machine tracking his pulse. He still remembered the yellowish light that seeped under the door. He remembered exactly how it felt to be alone and to know that no one was coming. His mother had been an only child. His father had a much-older brother named Jim whom Jax had never met.
That was it for family.
Jax had known it, and he’d had no idea that Jim and Vera were on the way—contacted by the LAPD five days into their twenty-fifth anniversary cruise to Europe. They’d been airlifted to the nearest port and were doing everything in their power to get to Jax.
For three days, though, he’d been alone. For three nights, he’d lain in bed trying to understand what it meant to have no one. On the fourth night, Jim and Vera had walked into the room—Jim an older, grayer version of Jax’s father.
For one moment, Jax had thought it had all been a nightmare—the gunshots, the screams, the knives, the blood. For one euphoric second, he’d believed that his family had been returned to him. He’d whispered, “Dad.” Just that one word, because his cheek had been sliced through, muscles and nerves carefully stitched back together, and he’d been in too much pain to say more.
If he let himself, he could still see the stricken look on Jim’s face, the tears sliding down Vera’s cheeks. He could still feel the yearning and the despair and the wild relief of knowing that he wasn’t alone after all.
The way Jax saw things, everyone should have someone to stand beside him in the darkest hours of the night.
Even tiny babies with bows dangling from their hair. Especially tiny babies.
He walked to the door the nurse had indicated, knocking once before he opened it. A large sink stood against one wall, a pile of scrubs and shoe covers sitting on shelves beside it. His coat hung from a hook next to the sink. Willow must have removed it when she put on scrubs. He knew the drill. He’d worked the beat in LA for years, and he’d interviewed more than one mother of a preterm baby. Another door separated him from the babies who were too little or too sick to be in the regular nursery.
He slipped into scrubs, washed his hands, and grabbed a face mask from a box sitting near the door. When he finally entered the nursery, he was surprised by the activity there. Several mothers sat in rocking chairs, watching their babies sleep. Two nurses moved from Isolette to Isolette, checking monitors and vitals. It wasn’t noisy or busy, but the feeling of loneliness didn’t seem to dwell there the way it had in the hallway.
Willow stood near the back wall, watching as Honor pressed electrodes to the baby’s chest. Another woman waited beside them, dark hair scraped back into a bun, a clipboard in hand. The lower half of her face was covered by a surgical mask, her eyes nearly hidden by thick-lensed glasses, but he got a sense of maturity, of energy, and of impatience.
A social worker. That was Jax’s guess.
Either from the hospital or the county.
She met his eyes as he approached. “Deputy Gordon? I’m Alison Brenner. Director of Whitman County Child Protective Services.”
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Brenner.”
“Alison is fine, and the meeting would be nicer if we weren’t in these circumstances, right?” She gestured to the baby. “Still, she’s one lucky kid that you and Willow found her. A sheriff’s deputy and a prosecuting attorney. What are the odds?”
She obviously didn’t expect him to answer, because she just kept talking. “The media is going to have a field day with this. You’re getting a picture for the press, right?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You handle finding the missing parents. My department will be handling the civil aspects of the case.”
“Meaning the sheriff’s office should keep its mitts off the baby?”
“Something like that.” She pulled a card from her pocket and handed it to him. “Of course, I understand that you’ll need access to DNA and any medical evidence that’s gathered, but we’d prefer that any visitors be vetted through the system. That includes law enforcement officials.”
“I’m assuming you’ll have a list of approved visitors?”
“I’ve already made it.”
“I’d like to be on it.”
“Of course.” Alison jotted something on a sheaf of paper clipped to the board. “My office is already getting calls from the media, so I’m going to check in with the nurses and make sure that they’re not letting anyone enter the NICU without proper ID. I’ll be back in a few. Wait here.”
It wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order, and Jax wasn’t all that keen on obeying. Then again, he wasn’t all that keen on getting kicked off the case before he’d even begun investigating. If he went head-to-head with social services, that’s probably what would happen. Kane was a laid-back boss. He was a good leader. He also liked to follow the rules, play by the book and make sure that everyone who worked for him did the same. He wouldn’t appreciate Jax causing trouble with Whitman County CPS.
Not that Jax planned to cause trouble, but he sure didn’t plan to follow every command Alison tossed his way.
“Are you going to follow her?” Willow asked.
“I’m tempted. Just to prove that I can.”
She laughed quietly. “I get that. Right before you arrived she told me to wait here while she went to look for you. I had the immediate urge to leave.”
“I guess neither of us have changed much since high school. We’re both still determined to do things our way.”
“That’s probably a good thing. If we weren’t, we’d both have become what people in town thought we should be.” The corners of her eyes crinkled. Even with the surgical mask in place, he knew just how her lips would curve, just exactly how the tiny dimple at the corner of her mouth would look as she grinned.
They’d been classmates all through high school, in silent competition with one another for the role of valedictorian, study partners for SATs prep. They’d even critiqued each other’s college entrance essays. Back then, she’d been Willow Lamont—Benevolence’s golden child, the Lamont girl most likely to take over the family shop. He’d been the guy who people in town thought was most likely to wind up in jail. They’d been as different as two people could be, but they’d both been absolutely determined to achieve their goals. In that way, they had been exactly alike.
“I sure as hell wouldn’t want to be in jail, that’s for sure.”
“And I wouldn’t want to be the proprietress of Chocolate Haven. At least not for longer than a few days.” She rubbed her temple, her fingers trembling a little. She had dark circles under her eyes. The kind that didn’t happen after just one night of missed sleep.
“Why don’t you sit for a few minutes?” he suggested, motioning toward a rocking chair that sat near the baby’s Isolette.
“I guess I will.” She dropped into the chair, a hint of winter rain and chocolate drifting in the air as she moved. It reminded him of cold nights, warm fires, good company, and it made him long for what he’d sworn he’d never have—a wife, kids, the kind of settled-down life that would break a man’s heart if he were to lose it.
“Are you planning on staying for a while?” he asked, and she shook her head.
“I have to open the shop in a couple of hours. I just want to make sure the baby is stable, and then I’ll go back to the apartment.”
“She’s been stable,” Honor said as she hooked the electrodes to the monitor.
“Maybe I just hate to think of her being left alone,” Willow admitted. “Everyone deserves to have someone beside them.”
“I was just thinking that same thing,” he said, and her eyes crinkled at the corners again.
“Great minds?”
“Two people who know what it’s like to be alone?” he responded. He wasn’t sure why. As far as he knew, Willow had never been alone. She’d always had her family standing in her corner, helping her through whatever crisis she was facing.
There was something in her eyes, though. Something that reminded him of the nights he’d spent alone in that hospital room.
Instead of responding, she reached her hand into the porthole in the side of the Isolette, touching one of the baby’s fingers. “She’s so small.”
“Five pounds even,” Honor said, jotting something in a chart. “Which is a lot bigger than most of the babies in here.”
“My niece was eight pounds when she was born.”
“Your niece was healthy, right? This little one has a heart condition. She probably weighed more when she was born and lost weight because she didn’t have the strength to eat properly.”
“How old do you think she is?” Jax asked. He’d been assuming she’d been born hours ago, but Honor seemed to think otherwise.
“A few days to a week. I’m basing that on the umbilical stump. I’ve got a feeling her mother had her at home and realized there was something wrong. Maybe she didn’t know how to get the medical attention that was needed. Of course, that’s my optimistic take on things. Visit with me tomorrow when I finish my fourth twelve-hour shift, and I’ll be a lot more pessimistic about things. I need to go check on a couple other babies. You two can wait here or head out. If you go, leave your number at the desk, Willow. I can give you a call once we know what’s going on with the baby’s heart.”
“I will. Thanks.”
Honor bustled away, and Willow settled deeper into the rocking chair, the scrubs she wore damp from the wet clothes beneath. Her bare toes peeked out from beneath the pant cuffs, and she’d shoved her sleeves up when she’d reached into the Isolette. There were goose bumps on her forearms.
“Still cold?” he asked.
“Freezing.”
“I can grab my coat for you.”
“No. I really do have to go back to the apartment. I just feel so bad for her. And, honestly? I feel bad for her mother, too.”
“I don’t have your kind of sympathy. The mother had a choice. The baby did not.”
“Maybe she had a choice.” She reached into the Isolette again, touching the baby’s downy hair. “Maybe she felt like she didn’t. I wonder what she’s doing while we’re here with her baby.”
“If she’s got any kind of conscience at all? Crying.”
“And worrying. She has to be worried. Do you think she stuck around to make sure the baby was found? That maybe she was one of the people watching from the alley entrance?”
It was a good question. One he’d been asking himself.
By the time he’d pulled out of the lot, there’d been a dozen people gathered nearby. He knew Kane had followed protocol and taken the names of everyone there. Tomorrow they’d canvas the neighborhood, interview anyone who might have seen anything. They’d also visit every person who was on Kane’s list.
“It’s possible.”
“If she wasn’t there, maybe someone she knows was. I’m hoping that someone will come forward with information that will help you find her.”
“Me too.” He lifted the camera and took a couple of shots of the baby. She was cute in the same way every other newborn was—scrunched-up face, soft-looking hair, tiny fingers and toes. No birthmarks that he could see. No scars or injuries. Just that hint of blue in her fingers and toes, the hint of purple in her lips. He took a photo of all those things and lowered the camera. “I’ll bring this out to Randall, and he can get started on his story.”
“I’ll come with you.” She stood, her movements unconsciously graceful, the long rope of her hair swinging as she moved. He smelled chocolate and rain again, and something darker and more decadent. Something that made him want to touch her silky skin, run his thumb over the pulse point in the hollow of her throat.
Maybe she sensed the sudden charge in the air, the sudden tension in him.
She stepped back, put a couple more inches between them. “Or, I can bring him the camera. That way you can stay with the baby.”
“There are three nurses in here,” he pointed out. “And I need to talk to Randall. I want to make sure he gets the details right.”
“It would be a little difficult for him not to. There aren’t all that many.”
“You’ve read the articles he’s written for the newspaper, right?”
“Long on opinion, short on fact?”
“Exactly.”
“This is different. It’s not a hot piece of gossip that he can twist into something more.”
“I still want to make sure he gets it right.” He touched her shoulder, urging her out of the nursery. They were the only ones in the prep area, and he could feel the silence again, the loneliness.
Yeah. Hospitals weren’t his favorite places. The sooner he left this one, the happier he’d be.
He pulled off his face mask and stripped off the scrubs, tossing them into a large laundry hamper and turning to face Willow.
She’d turned her back to him and was tugging the top of the scrubs over her head. The damp fabric pulled her pajamas with it, revealing the smooth, creamy skin of her lower spine, the taut muscles of her back. Flawless. Silky. Beautiful.
She yanked the top down, tossed the scrubs into the hamper, her movements brisk and efficient.
When she turned to face him, his breath caught. Just for a moment. Just for long enough for him to wonder how the hell he’d forgotten the way it felt to look in her eyes.
“What do you want to bet Randall is standing on the other side of that door?” she asked, and the moment was gone.
“The nurse wouldn’t let him in. I’d say he’s pacing the hall outside the NICU, hoping he gets to run his story before the national news gets wind of what’s going on.”
“How long do you think that will take?”
“About as long as it takes Kane to issue an APB on the vehicle.”
“That should make your job a lot more interesting.”
“My job is plenty interesting.”
“Really?” She raised a dark red brow. Her lashes were lighter. Gold-red in the fluorescent light. “I heard you were working in LA for nearly ten years.”
“That’s right.” He held the door open as she walked into the hall.
“I’d think that Benevolence would be mind-numbingly boring in comparison.”
“That depends on what you find exciting. Me? I’ve had enough murder, rape, gang violence, and drug crime to last me a lifetime.”
“I guess you had your reasons for going back to LA in the first place.” Her gaze shifted to his cheek, and he knew she wanted to ask questions. Aside from his uncle and aunt, only one person in town knew most of the story. Sinclair Jefferson wasn’t the kind of guy who talked about other people’s business. The fact that he was married to Willow’s sister didn’t play into it. He’d keep Jax’s confidence. Just like Jax had always kept his.
“And I guess you had your reasons for going to Seattle instead of taking over the family business,” he responded.
“Right,” she murmured.
“Are they a secret?” he pressed, because he’d always wondered what had driven her away.
“We all have secrets.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“No. I guess it wasn’t.” They passed the nurse’s desk, and Willow jabbed the button to open the door.
“Should I take that to mean you don’t want to share?”
“Would you?” She walked through the open door and turned to face him. “I mean, if I flat-out asked you why you went to LA and returned would you tell me?”
“Sure.”
“So . . . why did you go to LA? And, why’d you return? From what I’ve heard you’d made a good name for yourself with the LAPD. You had to be making a good salary. I’m sure your friends were there, your home.” She’d turned the conversation neatly away from herself.
Which was fine.
He might not discuss his family, but he didn’t mind telling her the truth about why he’d left Benevolence. “I went to LA looking for revenge.” He touched the corded edge of the scar.
“Did you find it?”
“I found justice. It’s a better thing.”
She eyed him silently, the freckles that dotted her cheeks dark against the pallor of her skin. “And, typically doesn’t get a person thrown in jail.”
“There’s that.”
She smiled, just a quick curve of her lips and a quicker flash of her dimple. “Do you still want revenge?”
“I want what I have here. Peace.” That was the truth. Or as much as he ever shared with anyone. He’d come back to help Jim and Vera, but he’d also come because he’d needed what Benevolence offered. He’d longed for the quiet and the predictability, for the nosey neighbors and the low crime rate.
He thought she might say something, but a woman’s voice echoed through the hallway—shrill, loud, frantic. He could hear the voice but not the words.
“Oh. Dear. God,” Willow whispered.
“What?”
“That’s my mother.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Listen,” she commanded, pulling him to a dead-stop.
The woman was still talking, her voice drifting from the waiting area. Whoever she was, she was trying to get her point across, the words growing louder and shriller.
“I’m telling you right now, this is not just about the baby. There’s something else going on. What if she’s hurt? Or worse?” she cried, and this time Jax heard what Willow had—Janelle Lamont’s voice.
“See?” Willow hissed. “It’s her.”
She didn’t give him a chance to respond.
Pant cuffs dragging, ponytail swinging, she jogged into the waiting room and disappeared from view.