SH Medical 07 - The Detective's Accidental Baby Page 3

  Now, she looked around for an empty table, until she noticed someone waving at her. It was Ned Norwalk, the blond, surfer-type nurse who assisted Owen in his office and with whom Erica sometimes had to coordinate scheduling. Sitting beside him was one of the hospital volunteers, an older woman with graying, light brown hair framing a strong face.

  “I’m surprised to see you here during office hours,” Erica told Ned as she set down her tray. “Don’t you have patients?” Although Owen didn’t schedule regular appointments on Friday afternoons, he used the time for follow-ups and urgent referrals.

  “It’s slower than usual.” That still didn’t account for Ned choosing to buy coffee in the cafeteria when he kept a pot brewing in the office.

  “No wonder it’s slow. Southern Californians hunker down when the temperature drops below seventy,” said his companion with a cheerful lilt. “My name’s Renée Green, by the way.”

  “Glad to meet you. I’m Erica.”

  “Oh, I know who you are.” She smiled. “Bailey talks about you a lot.”

  “How do you know Bailey?” Dr. T’s wife had gone on maternity leave from her nursing job months ago.

  “We met through a community counseling center,” Renée said. “If it weren’t for her, I’d never have thought of volunteering here, and I love it. This hospital feels like my second home.”

  That makes two of us, Erica reflected as she finished a bite of cantaloupe. “You don’t work?” She waved a hand apologetically. “I don’t mean to sound dismissive. I just wondered…”

  “Why I’m free in the middle of the afternoon? I recently retired from my job as a receptionist at an insurance company,” the woman explained. “I’m a widow, so my time is my own. How about you?”

  Uh-oh. It was a familiar pattern: I’ll tell you my story and now you tell me yours.

  Erica was spared having to deflect the question because Renée was no longer watching her. The woman’s face lit up as she gazed toward the cafeteria entrance. “Look who’s here! Aren’t they adorable?”

  “They almost make me want to have kids,” Ned agreed.

  For once, Erica didn’t mind when she spotted the twins in their double stroller. She was more than willing to let them monopolize this conversation.

  Besides, they were awfully cute. The little boy had bright red hair that would likely darken to match his father’s, while Julie, who was wriggling around in her seat, had curly brown hair with a hint of red, like her mother’s. Behind the stroller, Bailey beamed with pride. Her handsome husband radiated high spirits as he followed her into view carrying a sheet cake blazing with candles.

  Erica barely stifled a groan.

  “Happy birthday!” cried Ned and Renée.

  They’d come here because of her? So, apparently, had many of the other cafeteria visitors, who burst into a chorus of “Happy Birthday,” led by Dr. T’s baritone.

  A lump formed in Erica’s throat as she took in the genial faces of her colleagues. Along with several fellow nurses, she spotted nursing director Betsy Raditch, hospital administrator Dr. Mark Rayburn, embryologist Alec Denny and public relations director Jennifer Serra Martin. They’d all gathered to wish her well.

  And none of them had the slightest idea how very unwell this day made her feel.

  Erica forced a pleasant expression onto her face. “Thank you, everybody,” she said when the singing stopped. “This is a treat.”

  “It’s spice cake—your favorite. I have that on good authority,” Bailey said as her husband set down the cake. “I’m going to let the surgeon do the cutting. He’s better at it than I am.”

  Owen flexed his hands. “Anybody want a slice?”

  They all did. The cake was delicious, and to Erica’s amazement, some of her coworkers had brought her presents. Owen and Bailey gave her a generous gift certificate to A Memorable Décor, her favorite local store, which specialized in antique-style furnishings. Alec presented her with a couple of velvet cushions in shades of pink, hand-embroidered with butterflies, from him and his wife, Patty. It surprised her that he remembered how much she liked butterflies.

  “You shop at A Memorable Décor?” Renée’s eyes sparkled. “I love that place!”

  “Yes, although they’re a little pricey,” Erica admitted. “Mostly I haunt thrift shops. But I’ll enjoy spending this.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t bring you a gift,” Renée said.

  “Don’t be silly. I’m amazed that anyone went to all this trouble,” she assured her.

  Soon the gathering broke up. Unlike Erica, most of the attendees still had an hour or so left in their workday. She went out alone, carrying the cushions in their pretty shopping bag and balancing the leftover cake in a catering box. Along the walkway that led to the parking garage, rays of late-afternoon sunshine brought out the vibrant purples and yellows in a bed of pansies. It hadn’t been such a bad birthday, after all.

  The screech of brakes and the furious blare of a horn sent her heart thundering into her throat. A short distance away, a laundry service van had pulled out in front of a flower delivery truck, which missed it by inches. The drivers glared at each other and then the van backed out of the way.

  Erica felt her heart pumping hard as she headed to her car. She was shaking so badly she could barely balance the cake on the bumper as she opened the trunk to put everything inside.

  The near collision had banished her sense of well-being, leaving a void quickly filled by a rush of guilt. How could I laugh and enjoy myself, today of all days?

  She sat behind the wheel until she stopped trembling. She needed to shake this off and restore her equilibrium.

  She’d unload her stuff at home, change clothes and drive to the park. If the track was still muddy, she could run on the grass until she was too tired to do anything but collapse in front of the TV and stuff herself with spice cake.

  LOCK HADN’T BEEN thinking about Erica the entire week, just most of it. Hard not to, while he wrote up the results of the investigation, complete with photos. Even the shots taken in less-than-ideal light and from quirky angles showed those soulful eyes and her generous mouth.

  He hadn’t concentrated on her case exclusively, of course. He’d conducted background checks on a couple of new employees for a large company, testified in a custody case about the husband’s motel dates with female companions and located a missing autistic man at a video arcade. He’d also checked the park a few times, but in view of the rainy weather, wasn’t surprised that Erica stayed away.

  Give it up, Lock told himself on Friday afternoon. Having worked the previous evening, he felt justified in knocking off early, but he did not feel justified in trying to contact a woman he’d checked out for a client.

  Yet he steered automatically toward City Hall Park. The thing was, Lock reflected, he ought to have one more casual conversation with Erica so he could get past this inexplicable sense that they were connected.

  As he pulled into the nearly empty lot, a small dog ran in front of his car. Lock hit the brakes and was glad when the pooch fled unharmed.

  Since dogs weren’t allowed to run loose in Safe Harbor, this fluffy critter must be someone’s lost pet. After parking, Lock surveyed the area. No sign of Fluffy. He circled along a walkway, whistling and calling, “Here, boy!” For good measure, he tried, “Here, girl!” Neither produced any results. Except for a few hardy skateboarders trying tricks farther along on the cement path, the park appeared deserted.

  Lock made one more swing around the parking lot. In a corner, he spotted a familiar blue sedan with hospital decals on the windshield. A surge of pleasure lifted his spirits. She’d come back.

  He parked and set out for the track. Topping a slight rise, he was disappointed not to spot Erica’s slim figure anywhere on the beaten oval. Even from here, he could s
ee lingering puddles that indicated it was too muddy for running. Where had she gone?

  The swish of running shoes made him turn. “Well, well, if it isn’t Sherlock Holmes,” said the keen-eyed blonde with what might have been either a smile or a grimace. Hard to tell which as she raced past on the grass. “Looking for clues, Detective?”

  Although he hadn’t dressed for exercise, Lock pushed off, enjoying the view of the dark rose track suit stretching over her lithe figure. He ignored the twinges in his leg as he lengthened his stride to catch her. “I’d like to explain something. About my being a detective…”

  Her gaze bathed him in skepticism. “Don’t tell me. You made that up.”

  “No, but I did give you the wrong impression. I don’t work for the police department,” he said as they crunched across a scattering of fallen twigs.

  “Who do you work for?”

  “Private agency.” He caught a whiff of jasmine. Perfume, shampoo or a nearby flowering bush? Didn’t matter. The scent seemed to float around Erica.

  “Confession is good for the soul,” she returned, “but why bother?”

  “Because I like you.”

  She came to a stop, hands on hips, chest swelling as she caught her breath. Wisps of blond hair haloed her face. “First impressions aside, I’m willing to grant that you’re a nice enough guy, Sherlock, or whatever your real name is.”

  “Lock Vaughn,” he said. “And there’s a ‘but’ coming, isn’t there? How about if we discuss it over dinner?”

  “No, thanks. You’ve picked a bad day to try to charm me or whatever you’re doing,” Erica said.

  “I don’t want anything more than friendship. Of an extremely casual nature,” Lock assured her. At the moment, he meant it.

  “It always starts that way.”

  “Believe me—”

  “That’s the thing, Detective. I’m not big on believing people. And like I said, you have terrible timing.”

  Usually, Lock was able to keep a step ahead of the women he met, which helped in winning them over. But Erica thought as fast as he did, and now she caught him off guard by swiveling and racing away. Despite the urge to go after her, better judgment prevailed. The lady had said no.

  From the rise, Lock watched her angle down toward the sidewalk that edged Civic Center Drive. Then loud barking drew his attention away—to Fluffy, racing on short legs across the ground, with a big, scraggly dog loping behind him.

  Lock saw Erica glance toward the barking and stop, as if trying to decide what to do. The larger dog eased off, but Fluffy, too terrified to notice, leaped into the street with a frightened yelp.

  From his vantage point, Lock registered the approach of a fast-moving sport utility vehicle. With a jolt, he flashed on what was about to happen.

  Furiously, he pelted across the grass, yelling, “Look out!” Erica frowned in his direction, unable to see what was so clear to him.

  Just as he’d known would happen, brakes squealed and the SUV swerved to avoid the panic-stricken little dog. The vehicle leaped the low curb and skidded out of control.

  Straight toward Erica.

  Chapter Three

  She’d almost felt guilty for abandoning Lock when he’d been trying so hard to ingratiate himself. The guy was an intriguing mix of rough edges and smooth talk that Erica couldn’t quite figure out, and once upon a time she’d have stuck around to explore what lay beneath the surface.

  But despite the instincts drawing her toward him, she’d had to break away. Had to run until her brain shut down and she forgot everything except straining muscles and the thrum of her heart.

  A burst of barking had drawn her attention to a couple of dogs. As she’d weighed whether to risk intervening, the bigger dog gave up the chase. Now why had that little pooch kept on running, right into the street? She’d heard Lock shout, but that was only likely to frighten the dog further.

  Then she saw the detective waving at her in alarm. At the same moment, a crunch of tires drew Erica’s attention to the SUV veering toward her, a woman gripping the steering wheel in obvious panic. Although it appeared she had time to stop, she hit the accelerator by mistake, making the vehicle leap forward.

  Erica’s legs grew leaden, as if gravity had tripled its hold. Which way to go? Either direction might put her in the path of this unpredictable driver.

  The daylight dimmed. Erica heard the shriek of metal and the sickening crunch of glass, and felt a heavy body slamming into her. Someone was lifting her, falling on her—no, that had been years ago, a decade ago—yanking her up the hill, and the car swerved again, jounced back onto the pavement and jolted to a halt.

  Tremors racked Erica so hard she feared her knees would fold. Strong arms wrapped around her, gathering her against a solid male chest.

  Vaguely, she heard a woman crying, “Are you all right? I’m so sorry. I was trying to miss that dog.”

  “You nearly hit her.” The outrage in Lock’s voice rumbled through Erica.

  “Is she injured? I have insurance.” The woman came into focus, fidgeting on the sidewalk. She appeared to be in her forties, and wearing a tailored pantsuit and high heels as she was, had probably just left work. “I’m driving my husband’s SUV because my car’s in the shop, and I’m not used to it. Should I call an ambulance?”

  “No.” Erica didn’t need paramedics. She just wanted to go home.

  The woman rummaged in her purse and pulled out a wallet. “Here’s my driver’s license and insurance card. You should write this down. You might discover later that you’ve twisted something. I guess we should call the police, too, shouldn’t we?”

  “That’s up to Erica. There was no collision.” Lock sounded reassuringly calm, although she could still hear the anger in his voice.

  Erica shivered. She couldn’t face the police with their endless questions and delays. Besides, what was there to say? “I’m okay.”

  “All the same, we should take her information.” Releasing her, Lock copied the data from the documents into a small notebook.

  “Call me if you have any problem, anything at all.” The woman’s voice cracked, and Erica realized the incident had shaken her, too.

  “I do have a request.” Lock pointed across the street, where the small dog was sniffing around a covered trash can. Its former pursuer had vanished. “See if you can find that dog’s owner. There’s a tag on his collar.”

  “Of course!” She sounded relieved at having something to do.

  “And get your tires checked. You may have damaged them with that maneuver,” he added.

  “I will. Thank you! And again, I’m so sorry.” Off went the woman. Erica was pleased to see her carefully approach the little dog, which backed off a few steps but wagged its tail and let her pick it up.

  “Happy ending,” said Lock.

  “Let’s hope.” As her fear eased, it occurred to Erica that she was acting like a scared stray herself. “Thanks for shoring me up. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “Shock. It’s a natural reaction.” Up close, she could see the rough grain of his skin and the inviting curve of his mouth.

  “Well, I’m over it.”

  “Don’t count on that. Traffic accidents can traumatize people even when they’re physically unharmed.”

  “I thought you weren’t a cop,” Erica retorted, taking refuge in irony.

  Lock studied her sympathetically. “Until recently, I was a sheriff’s deputy in Coconino County, Arizona.”

  “And now, by sheer luck, you find yourself in California, rescuing women in pink jogging suits?” she responded, trying to ignore the cold bite of the breeze. Around them, the shadows had lengthened as the early February darkness closed in.

  He reached for her hands. “Let’s get
you to a warm place.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re trembling.”

  Erica hadn’t noticed, but he was right. “Walk me to my car. I’ll turn the heater up full blast, I promise.”

  “Glad to.”

  With Lock keeping pace, she ignored the traitorous liquidity of her knees and made her way across the grass. It took all her focus to maintain her balance on the uneven ground.

  “The blood’s drained out of your face,” Lock said when they reached the pavement. “Trust me, shock is nothing to take lightly.”

  As a nurse, Erica knew he was right—and wrong. “This isn’t shock. I haven’t suffered an injury or blood loss, and my organs are in no danger of failing. It’s a reaction to a surge of adrenaline, and I suppose an emotional response, as well.”

  Lock quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t have a lot of respect for emotional responses, do you?”

  “Do you?” she retorted, and dug into her pocket for her keys.

  He blinked, which she was learning indicated she’d struck a nerve. “I’m a guy.”

  “Feelings aren’t important to men?”

  “I keep a tight lid on them. I’m not saying that’s healthy, just that it’s normal.” He leaned against her car.

  “As compared to women, who get the vapors and swoon into the nearest pair of male arms?” Pointless or not, the argument helped restore her sense of control.

  “I’m game to do it again if you are.” The man had a heart-stopping smile. She had to tear her gaze away.

  There was only one other vehicle in the lot, a gray coupe with the lines of a sports car, Erica saw as she open the locks with a beep. Somehow she’d expected him to drive a jacked-up pickup. But as a detective, he was wise to keep his wheels inconspicuous. “I’ve done all the swooning I care to for one day. Have a nice evening, Detective.”

  “I should follow you home.”

  Great gimmick, Erica mused as she got into her car. Then he’d know where she lived, if he hadn’t figured that out already. “No, thanks.”