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  Even at this early morning hour, the waiting room was crowded. Haven County deputies formed a sea of green uniforms, and John ignored the baleful looks sent his way. They blamed him, and that was okay. He blamed himself.

  A long bank of windows comprised the room’s eastern wall. Caitlin Falconetti stood in front of those windows, arms wrapped around her midriff. Burnett stood behind her. The other man bent his head, lips moving in a whisper. Eyes closed, Caitlin nodded, tired worry etched into every line of her face. Burnett wrapped her in a quick embrace, and she leaned on him, the bond of a strong friendship obvious between them.

  Had Lanie ever wanted to lean on him that way?

  The idle thought brought a fresh wave of guilt. She was eight months pregnant, for God’s sake, with a baby that had been a complete surprise to both of them. But if there had been times when she’d wanted reassurance, he hadn’t known. She’d said everything was fine, and he’d taken the words at face value, relieved at not having to delve deeper. Shame burned along his skin. He’d failed her in so many ways, starting with the first time he touched her while still believing he loved another woman.

  He walked toward Burnett and Falconetti. She looked up, and her gaze bored into John. “What’s going on?”

  John jerked a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. They wouldn’t let me in. She’s stable, though. The nurse said the doctor would be out soon.”

  Caitlin tucked her hands in her pockets, her gaze straying to the window again. “Not soon enough. Lord, I don’t believe this is happening.”

  “John?” Beth’s soft voice slid over his jangling nerves. The blood was gone from her face, but rusty stains still marred her ivory sweater. Her blood or Lanie’s? He shuddered at the memory of all that blood, red splotches against white tile, a small pool beneath Lanie’s still body. “I’m going upstairs to Nicole’s room. Is there any news?”

  He shook his head. “Not yet.”

  Beth glanced sideways at Burnett and Falconetti. Resentment at Beth’s presence radiated from Falconetti’s stiff posture. Beth touched his forearm, a quick, light brush of her hand. “Do you need anything?”

  “No.” He forced a smile for her benefit. “Go see about Nicole. I’ll come find you once I know something.”

  A weary smile flitted across her face, and her fingers tightened for just a moment on his arm. “She’s going to be just fine. You know how strong she is.”

  “Yeah.” He cleared his throat of clogging emotion. From the corner of his eye, John caught that odd resentment flashing through Falconetti’s eyes again. He watched Beth walk away and rubbed a hand over his nape.

  “You know, you don’t have to stay if you’d rather be somewhere else.” Falconetti’s cold voice jerked his attention away from Beth, and John glanced around to find her watching him with narrowed eyes.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Cait.” Burnett reached out for her arm, and she shrugged him off. “This isn’t—”

  “Caitlin?” The double doors to the ER unit swung open, and Sheila Dolciani strode into the waiting area, accompanied by the tall, balding man John had glimpsed in the ER with Lanie earlier. “This is Dr. Lott. He’s been Lanie’s physician tonight. Doctor, this is John O’Reilly, the baby’s father.”

  Lott gave him a curt nod and turned his attention to Caitlin. “I understand you hold a medical power of attorney for Ms. Falconetti?”

  Caitlin darted a startled look at Sheila. “I do. We had them written up years ago, when we first went into law enforcement. But—”

  Sheila smiled, a strained expression that didn’t last long. “She’s going up to surgery in a few minutes. We need you to sign the consent forms.”

  Foreboding slithered down John’s spine. “Surgery for what?”

  Lott and Sheila exchanged a glance, and she drew a deep, visible breath before speaking. “There’s intracranial bleeding from the head injury. A craniotomy will be performed to suction out the blood and relieve the pressure on her brain—”

  “Oh God,” Caitlin whispered, a hand over her mouth. John shuddered. The idea of someone cutting into Lanie at all made him want to throw up. The idea of someone cutting open her skull was worse.

  Sheila’s dark gaze flicked in his direction. “And then there’s the baby.”

  She’d lost the baby. The knowledge slammed into John’s chest, his heart jerking. He ran a hand over his face, swearing beneath his breath.

  Sympathy glowed briefly in Sheila’s eyes. “She lost a lot of blood. We’ve had her hooked up to a fetal monitor, watching the baby’s vitals, and they’re not evening out like they should. The attending OB/GYN thinks the best route is to deliver him. He may be a little underweight, and his lungs will need to be monitored. But he stands a better chance if we deliver him.”

  His head snapped up, relieved disbelief surging in him. “She didn’t lose the baby?”

  “No.” Sheila shook her head and glanced at Caitlin. “But his heart rate is slower than it should be, and it’s not climbing. We need to get her into surgery.”

  Caitlin ran a hand through her hair. “Two surgeries? Is she stable enough for that?”

  An uneasy look flashed between the two doctors before Sheila spoke again. “We don’t have any other viable choices. We’ve got to stop the bleeding on the brain, and we have to deliver that baby, not only to save him but to save her. We haven’t been able to stop the vaginal bleeding.”

  “Are you saying she could still die?” Fear made John’s voice hoarse.

  “Without the surgery, yes.”

  “My God.” Caitlin closed her eyes. “Get me the forms.”

  Sheila held out a clipboard, and John watched Caitlin peruse the papers. Tears shimmered on her lashes, and a couple escaped to trickle over her cheeks. With shaking hands, she signed each copy and shoved the clipboard back.

  Sheila tucked the board under her elbow. “We’ll get her up to the surgical unit to be prepped.”

  Caitlin wiped her eyes. “May I see her first? Please?”

  Dr. Lott’s nod was curt. “Two minutes. We don’t have time to lose.”

  Sheila slanted a reassuring smile in John’s direction. “Would you like to come?”

  He nodded and followed them beyond the doors marked No Admittance. A nurse hovered in Lanie’s cubicle, monitoring her vital signs. The stretched skin of her exposed abdomen, circled by a wired belt, glowed white under the bright lights. Her eyes remained closed, her face pale, but some color had returned to her lips. John advanced as far as the bed, hesitant to touch her. His touch had placed her in this situation.

  Caitlin showed no such hesitation. She curled her fingers around Lanie’s hand and leaned close to her ear. “Lanie? It’s Cait.”

  If she’d expected a reaction, none came, just the steady blip of the heart monitor. John watched her thumb stroke over the back of Lanie’s limp hand in a light caress. Her low whisper seemed loud in the eerie quiet of the cubicle. “You’ve got to get better, Lane. You just have to. I love you.”

  She straightened and brushed at her wet cheeks, not looking at John. “I’m going to leave you alone with her.”

  “Thanks.” His throat closed. A draft rippled the privacy curtain with her exit. He stared down at Lanie’s still form, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. On the nights when he couldn’t sleep, the nights that had come more and more often in recent weeks, he’d often watched her while she slept. The abandoned way she lay, the soft sighs she sometimes made, her warmth next to him had soothed the tight knot that held permanent residence in his gut.

  Nothing about her unnatural sleep soothed him now.

  Still afraid to touch her, he leaned close. Her long lashes cast smudges of shadow on her cheekbones, and he remembered the way that dark fringe felt brushing his skin. An unfamiliar dampness burned his eyes. “Lanie?”

  Her name left his lips on a rough, hoarse whisper. He brushed a finger over her jaw, let his hand settle for just a second on
the swell of her stomach. The faint scent of mingled cinnamon and vanilla tickled his nostrils. A harsh, dry sob dragged at his chest. “Oh God, Lanie, I’m sorry.”

  Surrounded by the utilitarian white walls of the surgical unit waiting area, John stared at the television, the twenty-four hour news channel unable to hold his attention. His shoulder and side ached, and a dull pain throbbed through his head with his pulse. His tongue, coated with two cups of vending machine coffee, was a thick, dead thing in his mouth.

  The occasional Haven County deputy wandered in to ask if there was news, then wandered out again. Some of Lanie’s friends came and went. Across from John, Burnett sat on the low vinyl couch, one ankle crossed over his knee, an outdated fishing magazine balanced on his lap. Caitlin leaned against the other end of the couch, eyes closed, seemingly asleep, but the tense awareness in her posture indicated otherwise.

  Time crawled. John tried not to think about what was happening behind those imposing doors. Tried not to think about what could go wrong.

  Elbows on his knees, he dropped his head into his hands and stared at the speckled pattern in the linoleum. All you had to do was walk away, O’Reilly. Leave her alone. Ignore the attraction and what you wanted to do the first time you saw her. Well, you really screwed up this time, didn’t you?

  He’d been weak, and he’d failed. A shudder traveled through him, and he dragged trembling hands over his face. Another life ruined, maybe even lost, because of him. Somehow, he’d make it up to her. He would. He didn’t know how, but one way or the other, he’d make everything up to her.

  If he got the chance.

  With a deep breath that pulsed agony through his chest, he pushed up from the chair and stalked to the bank of windows on the east wall. Late morning sunlight sparkled off the distant waters of the Gulf. On a normal Saturday morning at this time, they’d be together—walking on the beach, getting housework out of the way, playing a set of tennis, making love.

  Damn it, he wanted to hear her fuss at him about not folding the towels the right way. He wanted her bitching at him to get the damned crib put together before the kid learned to drive. He wanted to see the way her eyes lit up when he handed her another shell or piece of polished sea glass to add to the glass bowls that held their collection. He wanted to dodge those wicked serves she had when she was pissed off at him for some stupid, inconsequential reason. He wanted her taking charge in the bedroom, holding his wrists so he couldn’t touch her while she rode him and pleasured them both.

  He wanted their life back.

  The reality of the thought skittered through his brain. Their life. Not Lanie’s life or the baby’s life. Their life.

  A nasty voice whispered at the back of his mind. And what about Beth? The love of your life? You can’t have them both.

  He passed a hand over his eyes again. The point was moot anyway. Lanie wouldn’t want him now, and there was Beth. They didn’t have to worry about Mitchell anymore. What would that mean to her? Would it change her mind?

  The thought didn’t bring the spurt of anticipation he expected. Instead, weary depression tugged at him. He didn’t see how anything good could come out of this mess. No matter what, someone stood to get hurt.

  He’d come full circle, and there was still no place to go.

  The whoosh of the doors had him spinning around, his heart a dull thud against his ribs. Caitlin was on her feet, piercing gaze alert, confirming his suspicion she hadn’t been asleep at all. Sheila, who’d gone to observe Lanie’s surgical procedures, removed her surgical cap. “Dr. Haynes, her surgeon, is closing up now. She’ll be in recovery in a few minutes.”

  Caitlin’s fingers covered her lips briefly. “So she’s—”

  “Doing as well as can be expected. Once she’s out of recovery, we’ll perform a CT scan and bring in a neurological consult if needed.” Sheila slid a tired smile in John’s direction. “John? You have a son. A little small—five pounds, three ounces, but his Apgar scores are good, his breathing is strong, and his lungs are clear. He’s gone to get cleaned up, and you should be able to see him in a few minutes.”

  A son. The words he hadn’t been able to get his mind around last night didn’t seem any more real now. Panic curled in his throat. He didn’t know the first thing about being a father. How could he? He didn’t remember his own father, the man whose name he carried, the young stern face in the photo hidden in his mother’s bottom drawer. His stepfather? Everything a father shouldn’t be, including the man who’d killed John’s mother.

  And John had started out his son’s life by putting him and his mother in danger. He was off to a great start.

  “John?” Sheila’s tone made him suspect she’d called his name more than once. He shook the panic away, pain shooting through his skull. “Do you want to see him? I can take you up to the nursery.”

  He wasn’t ready. Seeing him meant he was real. If he was real, avoidance was no longer an option. John tugged a hand through his hair and over his nape. “I…I’ll go up in a little while. I’m going to check in on Nicole and Beth.”

  Wrong answer. Caitlin glanced away with a whispered curse. John ignored her and focused on Sheila. “Can I see Lanie when she’s out of recovery?”

  Discomfort passed over Sheila’s face. “She’ll go into the surgical ICU. I’m sorry, but there’s a family-only rule on visitors. If things go well, she shouldn’t be there more than a couple of days, and then you can see her.”

  A couple of days? He was supposed to wait a couple of days to see for himself that she was all right? He opened his mouth to argue, but snapped it shut. He’d see what he could do about that later. Right now, he wanted to make sure Beth and Nicole were okay. Then he’d go meet his son.

  Beth wasn’t in Nicole’s room. The little girl slept, her hand tucked under her cheek. John knew his partner wouldn’t be far away, and he thought he knew where to find her. Stress always made her nicotine jones stronger. At the end of the pediatric hall, a door opened onto a sheltered balcony that offered refuge for the hospital’s smokers.

  Sure enough, Beth leaned on the railing, a cigarette burning to ashes between her fingers while she stared out at the waves. She glanced up when John joined her. “How’s Lanie?”

  He let his breath go in a long, shuddery sigh. “In recovery. They took the baby up to the nursery.”

  A spark lit in her dull blue eyes. “That’s wonderful! Oh, John, I’m so glad for you. I bet he’s beautiful. Does he look like you or Lanie? What about hair? Nicole was bald.”

  At her enthusiasm, a reluctant smile quirked at his mouth. “I haven’t seen him yet.”

  Her smile faltered. “What? Why not?”

  “I just…needed a minute first.”

  “Bull. You’re scared.”

  He leaned his elbows on the railing. “Yeah.”

  “John. You’re going to make a great dad. Go see him.”

  He shrugged. “Want to go with me?”

  Her body stiffened, and the smile disappeared altogether. “No. I’m not the person who should be there.”

  “Damn it, Beth, it’s not a proposal—”

  “Thank God for that.” Anger twisted her features. “Why the hell did you tell Lanie you still loved me? Are you stupid?”

  Outrage traveled under his skin. “I never told her that.”

  She pulled another cigarette from the pack and lit it with shaking hands. “What is with you, O’Reilly? What we had… It wasn’t real. You swore it was behind you. Why are you still hanging on to it?”

  He wanted to shake her. “Not real? That’s funny. I could have sworn that was you with me that night in Atlantic City, screaming you loved me while we made love.”

  If he wanted to shake her, the desire to slap him was plain in her eyes. “I’d just gotten out of a hellish marriage. You were my partner. I knew I could trust you. You were strong and there for me, and you’re good in bed. But that’s all. I never loved you. Not really. Not that way.”

  His hands tightened
on the railing until his bloodless knuckles glowed. “Thanks a lot.”

  A harsh laugh cut between them. “I don’t think you know what love really is. It’s all mixed up in your head with your protective instincts. You don’t know love from duty and obligation. I was someone who needed a knight, and that shining armor was a perfect fit for you. But it wasn’t real.”

  “Yeah.” Bitterness dripped from the word.

  With a frustrated growl, Beth ground the cigarette out and threw up her hands. “Fine. I love you. Is that what you want to hear? Nicole needs a daddy, and it’s been a while since I had a really good lay. The doctor says she can go home this afternoon, and I’m planning to catch a flight back to El Paso as soon as humanly possible. I can’t stay here. Want to come with us? We’ll set up house.”

  Anger curled up in his gut and licked at his nerves. “You know I can’t go now.”

  She leaned in, her expression intent. “Why not? I’m offering you what you said you wanted. Me, Nicole, us. The whole shebang—a brownstone, a minivan, trips to Disney World. Hell, we can get a dog.”

  He jerked a hand through his hair. “You think I’d leave Lanie now? And what about the baby? I can’t just abandon him.”

  “The reality is you left her as soon as she told you she was pregnant, if you were ever there to start with. Write her a child support check every month and get out of her life. You’ll be doing her a favor.”

  Chapter Seven

  John stared through the nursery door’s glass insert. Plastic bassinets filled the cheerful yellow room, and he counted seven tiny occupants. One of them was his son. He glanced down at the plastic hospital bracelet inscribed with Lanie’s name, the word boy, and the time of birth. 9:43 A.M. This bracelet was his ticket into his son’s life.

  No more avoidance. He couldn’t turn away. Right now, the kid didn’t have anyone else. With a deep breath that set his chest aching again, John pulled the door open. The taller of the two nurses working the room approached, a wary smile on her face. “May I help you?”