Familiar Lullaby

Familiar Lullaby Caroline Burnes MYSTERY BABY ON THE DOORSTEP!Patience and calmness under fire always got police detective Mel Haskin what he wanted. But he was fast losing both – because of Lily Markey. The fiery-haired, jade-eyed reporter refused to tell him what she knew about the baby boy who'd appeared on a high-society doorstep. And what she knew could get her killed.So Mel vowed to stick to Lily as closely as the black cat who followed her everywhere. Because his badge demanded it… or was it his heart? “Are you here alone?” Lily bit her bottom lip. “Yes,” she said. “I came out here for some privacy.” Something in the way she lowered her gaze made Mel suspicious. Lily wasn’t a very good liar. Who was she protecting? His gaze drifted toward the stairs. He stood and walked that way. Lily darted around him, blocking his path. “Unless you have a search warrant, you can’t go there,” she said. She wasn’t backing off an inch, and he felt his estimation of her rise. She was a pain to deal with, but he liked the way she handled herself. Mel took a step closer. Lily held her ground and looked up at him. Her eyes were an amazing swirl of color. He found himself unable to glance away. When he finally did, it was down to her lips. They were full and generous and just slightly parted. Almost as if they were awaiting a…kiss. Way back in his brain, a tiny voice told him he was insane, that he was committing professional suicide, that he was acting on an impulse he would regret. He didn’t listen. He lowered his lips slowly to hers. Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader, All the evidence is in! And it would be a crime if you didn’t “Get Caught Reading” this May. So follow the clues to your favorite bookstore to pick up some great tips. This month Harlequin Intrigue has the distinguished privilege of launching a brand-new Harlequin continuity series with three of our top authors. TRUEBLOOD, TEXAS is a story of family and fortitude set in the great Lone Star state. We are pleased to give you your first look into this compelling drama with Someone’s Baby by Dani Sinclair. Look for books from B.J. Daniels and Joanna Wayne to follow in the months ahead. You won’t want to miss even a single detail! Your favorite feline detective is back in Familiar Lullaby by Caroline Burnes. This time, Familiar’s ladylove Clotilde gets in on the action when a baby is left on a high-society doorstep. Join a feisty reporter and a sexy detective as they search for the solution and find true love in this FEAR FAMILIAR mystery. Our TOP SECRET BABIES promotion concludes this month with Conception Cover-Up by Karen Lawton Barrett. See how far a father will go to protect his unborn child and the woman he loves. Finally, Carly Bishop takes you out West for a showdown under a blaze of bullets in No One But You, the last installment in her LOVERS UNDER COVER trilogy. So treat yourself to all four. You won’t be disappointed. Sincerely, Denise O’Sullivan Associate Senior Editor Harlequin Intrigue Familiar Lullaby Caroline Burnes www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) ABOUT THE AUTHOR Caroline Burnes continues her life as doorman and can opener for her six cats and three dogs. E.A. Poe, the prototype cat for Familiar, rules as king of the ranch, followed by his lieutenants, Miss Vesta, Gumbo, Chester, Maggie the Cat and Ash. The dogs, though a more lowly life form, are tolerated as foot soldiers by the cats. They are Sweetie Pie, Maybelline and Corky. Books by Caroline Burnes HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE 86—A DEADLY BREED 100—MEASURE OF DECEIT 115—PHANTOM FILLY 134—FEAR FAMILIAR* (#litres_trial_promo) 154—THE JAGUAR’S EYE 186—DEADLY CURRENTS 204—FATAL INGREDIENTS 215—TOO FAMILIAR* (#litres_trial_promo) 229—HOODWINKED 241—FLESH AND BLOOD 256—THRICE FAMILIAR* (#litres_trial_promo) 267—CUTTING EDGE 277—SHADES OF FAMILIAR* (#litres_trial_promo) 293—FAMILIAR REMEDY* (#litres_trial_promo) 322—FAMILIAR TALE* (#litres_trial_promo) 343—BEWITCHING FAMILIAR* (#litres_trial_promo) 399—A CHRISTMAS KISS 409—MIDNIGHT PREY 426—FAMILIAR HEART* (#litres_trial_promo) 452—FAMILIAR FIRE* (#litres_trial_promo) 485—REMEMBER ME, COWBOY 502—FAMILIAR VALENTINE* (#litres_trial_promo) 525—AFTER DARK “Familiar Stranger”* (#litres_trial_promo) 542—FAMILIAR CHRISTMAS* (#litres_trial_promo) 554—TEXAS MIDNIGHT 570—FAMILIAR OBSESSION* (#litres_trial_promo) 614—FAMILIAR LULLABY* (#litres_trial_promo) CAST OF CHARACTERS Familiar—When a mysterious basket arrive son the feline detective’s doorstep—and starts crying!—Familiar knows it’s time to go to work. Clotilde—Familiar’s ladylove proves that a female kitty is always useful in times of crisis. Lily Markey—The stubborn reporter will do what it takes to protect a mother and baby. Mel Haskin—His past makes him doubly protective of an abandoned baby, and he knows Lily can help him solve the case—if she cooperates. Susie Bishop—She made the ultimate sacrifice to save her baby. Wayman Bishop—The mayor’s slick right-hand man has his fingers in a lot of pies. Jim Lavert—When a cop turns bad, there’s nowhere to go but down. Margie Lavert—Jim’s widow is very helpful. Too helpful? Rose and Preston Johnson—The wealthy couple has everything—except the child they’ve always longed for. Baby David—The cause of all the ruckus. To all of Familiar’s fans, and especially to those who repeatedly asked to see more of Clotilde. Contents Chapter One (#ub6fbe686-5746-52e8-bfa9-ada9f74000d1) Chapter Two (#ude6dfec5-e8d6-546a-8619-ced7e32bb89d) Chapter Three (#u3c97d079-03bd-5caa-98fc-8b5ab12f92d1) Chapter Four (#u73897bf3-6ce2-5262-8809-bcea45ac6502) Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter One It’s a party! Orchestra, glittering gowns, laughter, the sparkle of jewels and conversation. In attendance, the cr?me de la cr?me of Washington society. Not to be a name-dropper, but there’s George Stephanopoulos. And over in the corner, another powerful pundit, George Will. Gads, none of the common reporter breed! And I see Senator Finances and the First Lady of Law and Order herself. Yes, Preston and Rose have created another successful power evening! Clotilde can be proud of her humanoids. I noticed earlier that the television vans were parked on the street. No working press invited tonight, but they’ll be eager to film who comes in and out of the party. Power, prestige and purr-fectly prepared food—this is absolutely the setting for a few smooth moves and some hanky-panky from a swanky black feline. Speaking of beauteous kitties, where is Clotilde? I’m out on the veranda, picnic spread, waiting to woo my love with sumptuous tidbits I’ve purloined from the various buffet tables. And Clotilde keeps me waiting. Isn’t that just like a feline? So I have a little time to recheck the menu. I have some smoked salmon with cream cheese spread and caviar. A little salty for my taste, but Clotilde loves it. Honestly, the way that caterer acted when he caught me snatching it off the table, you’d think it was gold bullion. Now some escargots—yum. Fascinating what garlic and butter will do for a snail. A bit of beef, a sampling of roasted pork, some cheeses. I’d say I covered all the bases. As for dessert, that’s something I want to save for later, if you get my drift. The night is a little chill for the humanoids, which means they’ll stay inside. Clotilde and I will have the lovely veranda all to ourselves. We can still hear the music and watch the bipeds do the dance of power and politics. And we can dine at leisure, without censure or interruption. Goodness, after my last case in New Orleans I’m glad to be home. I think I might have to take a breather from the P.I. business. I think a few weeks of Clotilde…what’s that? Someone is climbing over the wall in Preston’s backyard. The guest list was exclusive, but I hardly think this party is worth breaking and entering. A sleek, elegant black shadow—hey, it could be me if I were a biped. Except this one is a woman! I wonder if it’s one of those pushy media types. No, she’s carrying a basket. A big basket. And she’s being very, very careful not to be seen. I think this must be one of those surprise delivery services. You know, the ones that drop off expensive gifts in deadly secret. Let me say, I highly approve of this delivery gal. She’s got a pair of gams that Ginger Rogers would envy—long, lean and well-muscled. And the torso sitting on top of them screams “kick-boxing fool.” She climbed that wall like it wasn’t twelve feet of solid cement. And she can crouch and run—a talent for a biped, and don’t forget it. The basket is pretty heavy, too. And she’s leaving it on the veranda. Very stealthy lady. A secret gift basket. Someone has sent Clotilde’s humans a lovely basket of food for the party. And guess what! I’m going to make sure there’s nothing in there that might make a humanoid sick. That’s part of my feline duties—to consume any suspicious foodstuffs. I’ll just give bat-woman another second to fly back over the wall…. Now I can make my move on the food basket. I hope it’s a good, salty ham. It looked to weigh about ten pounds or so. There’s just nothing like a ham—uh, oh, this ain’t no smoked piglet. It’s alive and kicking, and it’s about to start crying for mama. That woman abandoned a baby! A real, live humanoid of the smaller version. A humanette. A muchacha. A bambino. A babette. Oh, my goodness. It’s so newborn its eyes can’t focus. She can’t see Uncle Familiar hovering over her. And it’s too cool out on this veranda for a baby! What was that woman thinking? Thank goodness, here’s Clotilde. One look at the little bambino and I can see a plan in her eyes. Yes, I know Rose and Preston have wanted a baby for years. Yes, I know they’d make perfect, loving parents. Yes, I know they could give a child all the advantages. But that doesn’t negate the fact that this child belongs to someone—someone who climbed a wall and dumped it here. Clotilde has found a note. And the baby is starting to cry. Much as I hate to do it, I think I’m going to have to find Eleanor. Clotilde wants to keep this baby, but whoever abandoned a child deserves to be punished. Severely punished. A lot of people view living creatures as disposable. If they don’t want a kitten, or a puppy or a baby, they just throw it away—toss it out somewhere and hope someone will find it and want it. Or toss it out and just let it die of starvation. This burns me up! I know, from personal experience, what it feels like to be tossed. And though Clotilde may view this as a gift from God, the long-legged humanoid who brought this baby here is soon going to view me as the avenging angel. Okay, here’s Eleanor. She’ll know what to do to keep the little whippersnapper from crying so. MEL HASKIN leaned against the wall and took in his surroundings. Enough food for an army lay deserted on buffet tables where chilled bottles of champagne still resided in ice buckets. Yes, this was one party that had come to a screeching halt. And all for the little bundle that a handsome, dark-haired couple hovered over. Eleanor Curry taped the diaper into place and then relinquished the baby to Rose Johnson. “I’m a veterinarian, not a pediatrician,” Peter Curry said, “but that baby isn’t more than ten hours old. He’s been well taken care of.” “There’s a note, officer.” Eleanor glanced at the woman with the infant as she picked up the note and read aloud. “‘His name is David. He has the power to slay Goliath, and you must protect him from his enemies. Keep him safe and always remind him of his mother’s love and her sacrifice to protect him.”’ “I will protect him. We will.” Rose Johnson cradled the baby in her arms and looked up to meet her husband’s gaze. He nodded firmly. “Rose, a crime has been committed,” Eleanor reminded her. “You can’t keep this baby.” “Watch me,” Rose said. She settled on the sofa with the child in her arms and the beautiful calico cat purring at her side. “Even Clotilde thinks he belongs to us.” Mel gingerly took the note that Eleanor Curry offered him. “I’m afraid it’s been handled by quite a few people,” Eleanor said apologetically. “When Familiar found the baby, we all became a little excited. We passed the note around the party. It’s just that…well, we weren’t actually thinking of the baby as a crime at the time.” “No one saw the drop?” Mel asked. He personally was avoiding the baby. It wasn’t that he didn’t like children. In fact, one day he hoped to have a couple. But with the work he did, he viewed babies and small children as victims. They had no voice, no way to protect themselves against whatever rotten deal their worthless parents happened to hand out to them. Just like the baby in this case. So what if the mother had named him—the Biblical name of a young man who slew a giant? And so what if she’d left him on the doorstep of a wealthy home—a place where he was obviously wanted and would have every advantage? None of that made a difference. Not to him. No matter how the facts were dressed up, the story was the same. Some young woman had gotten herself pregnant and had the kid. Then because the kid would inconvenience her life, she’d dumped the responsibility on someone else. In Mel’s book, that was a crime that deserved prosecution. And he was just the man to do it. “Meow.” He was pulled from his thoughts by sharp claws in his shin. He looked down into the green eyes of the sleekest black cat he’d ever seen. “Meow.” “What?” He looked around to make sure no one had heard him talking to the cat. The cat turned quickly and went to the basket, which had been put beside the sofa. With one expressive black paw, the cat patted the basket. Mel picked it up and examined it. His fingers brushed against the blanket the baby had been wrapped him. Soft. Very soft. He pulled the pale blue wrap out of the basket and shook it out. He’d never felt a baby blanket so soft. His fingers rubbed the texture. Cashmere! Incredible. And the cat was tipping the basket over to indicate a tag. He looked at it. Not just an ordinary wicker basket—this one was signed. A handmade basket. Now that was a clue. As discreetly as possible he returned the blanket to the basket. “I’d like to take these items as evidence,” he said. “I’d prefer that you didn’t,” Rose Johnson said quickly. “Those may be all this little boy has to remember his mother by. I’d like to hold on to them and give them to him when he’s older.” Mel sighed. He was going to have his hands full now. In her mind, Mrs. Johnson had adopted this child. She was already planning his future. “The baby will have to be taken to DHR,” he said as gently as he could. “It’s the law, ma’am.” “Surely we can work something out, detective,” Preston Johnson said, stepping forward. “We’ll assume complete responsibility for this child.” He put his hands on his wife’s shoulders. “We’ll hire a full-time nurse, if that would help. We’ll start a college fund.” Mel held up a hand. “I don’t doubt that you’d make the most wonderful parents in the world. But that’s not up to me to decide. I’m only a detective. The Department of Human Resources handles all of these cases. All I do is follow the procedure.” He saw the frown pass over Preston Johnson’s face and knew these weren’t people who gave up easily. Too bad the baby’s mother hadn’t wanted him one-tenth as much as these strangers. He felt a flush of fury. At a strange woman. At the cruelty of fate. “Detective, I don’t mean to usurp your authority,” Preston said carefully. “Would it offend you if I made a call to Judge Patterson? I believe he handles these cases, and we’re old friends. If he said we could keep the child—just until Monday morning—would you feel comfortable with that?” Normally, Mel knew the suggestion of going over his head to a judge would ignite his sense of outrage. But for some reason—probably because the Johnsons so obviously cared for this abandoned baby—he felt only hope. “Judge Patterson has the final say. If he gives me the green light to leave the baby, I’ll do it with a glad heart.” Preston Johnson smiled. “I’ll make the call. While you’re waiting, could we make you some coffee? I’d offer champagne, since we had to hustle all of our guests out the door.” He chuckled. “But I know you’re on duty.” “Coffee would be nice,” Mel said. Actually, he just wanted to get back to the department, where he’d left a stack of paperwork a mile high on the last case he’d finished. A double homicide. What he wanted more than anything was ten consecutive hours of sleep. Everyone else in the room was so involved with the baby they failed to hear the disturbance at the front door. Curious, Mel slipped out of the room, down the hallway and to the front where the butler held firmly to the door. “I’m sorry, miss, but no press was allowed to attend tonight. I don’t believe the Johnsons want to change that policy now.” “I heard that someone dropped a baby.” Mel recognized the crisp tones of the reporter and he stifled a groan. Lily Markey. She was a pitbull disguised as a fashion model. Of all the hundreds of reporters in Washington, D.C., Lily Markey was the one he dreaded most. She wasn’t unethical, and she wasn’t sensational—what she was was a pain in the butt because she was so ethical. She had a reputation for being tough but fair, and she lived up to it every day. In a city where law enforcement viewed most of the media as egotists and liars, Lily had everyone’s respect. And here she was with a tip about the baby. “Miss, you can call Mr. Johnson Monday at his office. I’m sure he’ll talk with you.” “It’s Saturday night. I can’t wait until Monday,” Lily said sweetly. “In fact, I’ve got an hour until deadline. I have to see one of the Johnsons right this minute.” “Impossible,” the butler said sternly. “Now remove yourself or I’ll have to take appropriate steps.” Mel sighed again. He could deal with Lily now, or he could wait until later, but deal with her he’d have to. He walked up to the door. “I’ll take care of this,” he said softly to the butler. “Thanks.” He opened the door, stepped outside and closed the door behind him. “Mel?” Lily showed genuine surprise. “The baby’s okay, isn’t he?” Mel was struck first by Lily’s intensity. She was a woman who gave her heart and soul to her work. He noticed her beauty and her word choice almost as a simultaneous second. “He? You must have one helluva source at the department because I haven’t phoned in the gender of the baby to anyone.” He’d caught her off guard, and he was pleased to see her flush. Lily Markey had a very powerful source. Someone way high on the food chain in law enforcement was feeding her facts. And he’d nailed her on it. “Oops,” she said, biting her bottom lip in a way that said she was a silly child. Only Mel knew she wasn’t silly, and she wasn’t a child. “Oops is right. With a clue like that, I might be able to figure out who your source is.” “Unlikely,” she said, recovering her balance. “Now tell me about the baby. Will the Johnsons keep hi—it?” “How did you know—” “I’ve been to numerous cocktail parties thrown by Rose and Preston. Everyone in their circle knows how much they want a child.” Lily waved one graceful hand in the air, dismissing the personal knowledge she’d obtained. “Even a Washington Post political reporter?” Mel didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm in his voice. Sane people, especially those who lived in the fishbowl of Washington politics, would gnaw off an arm before allowing a media person to know any of their personal business. Especially something as private as a desire for a child. “I’m not an ogre. I can understand the desire for a child.” There was a defensive tone in Lily’s voice and Mel wondered if he’d hit a nerve. “I thought it was newspaper policy that you had to eat at least three of your young to prove you were tough enough.” To his surprise she laughed. “Old policy. The newspaper revamped with a kinder, gentler policy. Now we just have to eat three police detectives.” “Touch?,” he said, laughing also. He couldn’t help but notice that Lily, though reputed to be cold and heartless, had eyes that danced with merriment when she laughed. With her auburn hair and green eyes, she seemed more Irish lass at the moment than big-city reporter. He changed his mind instantly when she opened her mouth. “So, what about the baby? Will the Johnsons keep it?” “That’s to be determined by DHR,” he said, stepping back into his official role. “What are you doing here? I thought criminal action was your bailiwick?” “It is. There’s nothing more criminal than abandoning a child.” “Abandoning?” He narrowed his gaze at Lily. She acted as if he’d said the baby had been abused. “I thought it was left here at the Johnson home. During a big party. That doesn’t seem to constitute abandonment. I mean, it isn’t as if someone left him out in the freezing cold in a Dumpster or—” “That baby was abandoned as surely as if the mother dropped him in an alley like an unwanted kitten.” “I beg to differ. I—” To Mel’s surprise, Lily halted in mid-sentence. She bit her bottom lip again, as if to force herself to shut up. “Why does it seem to me that you’ve got a personal stake in this baby?” He was only playing a hunch, but his hunches were one of the reasons he was considered one of the top three detectives in Washington, D.C. “It’s just a terrific human-interest story.” “I thought politics was your beat.” He felt that strange tingling that made every one of his senses come alive. “It is. The Johnsons are political.” “An unwanted baby isn’t exactly what I’d consider your normal turf.” He paused. “What are you doing here, Lily?” She hesitated. “I’ll tell you, Mel. I got this tip from a friend. A close friend. I was asked to pursue the story, as a personal favor.” He nodded. That made a little more sense. “Well, there’s no story here yet.” “Level with me. The baby’s okay, right?” There was worry in her voice though she did her best to hide it. “Yes. He seems fine. The Johnsons have called a doctor to check him out. It would appear the infant will have every benefit that money can buy. At least for the short amount of time the Johnsons can keep him.” “What do you mean? They want him, don’t they?” “You may know the Johnsons, but you aren’t familiar with the law. A person can’t just find a baby and keep it because she wants it. The baby will have to go through the system.” “But the Johnsons would make terrific parents.” “That’ll be for DHR and a judge to determine. I’m afraid the baby is going to spend the first few months of his life in an institution.” He heard the bitterness in his tone even though he’d thought he was long over it. He saw that Lily, too, heard it. She gave him a speculative look but said nothing else. “Could I speak to the Johnsons?” she asked. “Give me your card. I’ll leave it with them. Right now, I can honestly tell you that they’re interested only in the baby.” Lily smiled. “That’s good to know.” “Yeah,” Mel said. “It is.” He took the business card she offered and watched as she strode down the walk with long, bold steps. She was tall, slender and athletic. Just the kind of woman that could rock his world. He turned back to the house and found that he wasn’t alone on the steps. The black cat was sitting beside his feet, tail twitching. The cat watched the departing newspaper reporter with green-eyed intensity. It seemed he wasn’t the only one with hunches on a cold March night. Chapter Two Lily Markey forced her shoulders up and back and walked away from the Johnson house with her head high and her stride purposeful. It took all of her inner strength to do so. Of all the luck! Mel Haskin! What trick of fate had put a homicide detective on a baby case? And damn it all, he acted as if he was taking the abandonment personally! She got in her car and slammed the door, locking it against a March wind that had grown a lot colder since three hours ago, when she’d made her first visit of the evening to the Johnson home. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the headrest, trying to ease the tension in her neck. She’d dropped off the baby just as she’d promised. And David had been found. He was safe. Inside that big house with people who wanted him. People who would give him a future and every advantage. He would never be in danger of being hit or used as a pawn in an ugly domestic power game. Her hands gripped the steering wheel, and she waited for the anxiety to pass. When she felt steadier, she started the car and drove away. She’d done the best thing. She’d done the only thing. She’d done what was right for David, and for his mother. But it wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot. David was safe. Now she had to make certain that the frightened young woman who’d entrusted her newborn to Lily had a shot at a decent life, too. MEL SAW THE LOOK of happiness on Preston Johnson’s face and knew that the judge had ruled in favor of leaving the baby in the Johnson home. “He made it clear it wasn’t permanent,” Preston said. “But each hour we keep this baby strengthens our case, don’t you think?” Mel kept his opinion to himself. The legal system didn’t always seem to work in a rational or kindhearted, way. Based on what he’d seen of the Johnsons, he’d vote to leave baby David here until college age. But he wasn’t in charge. He was just a cog in the big system. “Judge Patterson told us we had to appear Monday morning,” Preston said. “We’ll be there.” “Yes.” Rose Johnson stood. “Thank you, detective. And if you do find the mother, maybe you could…” He knew what she wanted. Maybe he could put in a word and say what a good home the baby would have. “I’ll do what I can,” he said. “I’ll be in touch.” He checked the room once more. The Johnsons and their friends, the Currys, were involved with the baby. Even the strange cats, the black and the calico, were acting as if a little prince had dropped from the sky. Maybe there were still homes where people loved children and pets. He hurried back out into the night. He had work to do at his office. And he also wanted to make a few calls. In his years on the streets he’d developed a few contacts, but what good would they do him in this case? Someone had delivered this baby, but he was willing to bet it wasn’t a teenager who’d gone through the labor process alone. The baby had been cleaned, the navel properly attended. And there was the expensive blanket and basket. No, this baby came from money. And now his interest was piqued. LILY SAT in the chair beside the bed. She put a hand on Susie Bishop’s forehead and was relieved to discover she was cool to the touch. No fever. That was good. Of course, nothing could ease the pain in Susie’s expression as she opened her eyes. “They wanted my baby?” Her voice broke on the words and Lily found her own eyes misting with tears. Some tough reporter she was. If any of the guys in the newsroom saw her, she’d be laughed out of the building. “They fell in love with him. Of course, they’ll have to get legal custody.” She let it drop there. She’d miscalculated twice already—once in delivering the baby during a party and next in assuming that the Johnsons wouldn’t report the baby. She’d simply assumed they’d enfold the child into the bosom of their family. In that she’d been wrong. “Is something the matter?” Susie asked. Lily instantly smiled. “Of course not. Everything’s just like I said it would be. Now you have to concentrate on getting up and moving. We have to get you out of the city, Susie.” The woman turned her face away. “And go where? He’ll find me. He said it didn’t matter where I went, he’d always find me. And he’d make me pay.” Lily felt the bracing power of anger. “He can say anything he wants, but he isn’t omnipotent. He doesn’t control Washington. I’ll get you out of this town. There’s a big world out there, Susie. And there’re lots of nice people, too. Like you.” “He has his finger in every pie in town. Half the police force seems to be on his private payroll.” Lily felt dread course through her body. Mel Haskin. The word on the street was that Mel couldn’t be bought. But the old saying was that every man had his price. If Mel ever got a hint of who baby David really was, disaster would surely follow. “Look, Susie. Don’t worry about that now. Rest. I’ve got to go to the newspaper and finish a story. I’ll come back with some food and then you’re going to get up and walk. Remember. That’s what the midwife said. Walk, walk, walk. But wait for me, okay?” “Why are you doing this? If Wayman finds out you helped me, he can make your life a living hell.” Her voice broke. “If there’s any life left in you. He’ll kill you, Lily.” “He won’t find out.” Lily wiped the tear away from Susie’s cheek. She was so weak, so beaten down. The trace of a bruise still lay under the skin of her cheek. What had it been, a week ago that Wayman Bishop had thrown his nine-months-pregnant wife into a wall because his coffee got cold before he drank it? “He’s so mean.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I can be mean, too. If I have to.” She smiled and patted Susie’s head. “I know judo, karate, and I won the kick-boxing championship. Lemme at ’im.” Her bravado was rewarded with a weak smile from Susie. “I wish I was half as brave as you are.” “You are, Susie. You saved your baby. That took incredible courage. You gave that little boy a chance for a life of love, even though it meant you had to lose him.” “Wayman would have ruined him. He would have beaten him, or he would have turned him into a mean bully. Either way, I couldn’t stand it.” “Hush now. Just rest. I’ll be back in no more than two hours.” THE HOUSE is settling down for a much-deserved nap. Even Clotilde is yawning, but I can see that she has something on her mind. There’s one thing about cats—once they focus in on something, there’s no stopping them. I’ve seen foolish humanoids attempt to train a cat to stay off a counter. Newspaper, water pistols—hah! Tools of an incompetent! There is nothing that can dissuade a cat. The only thing to do is to remove whatever object has drawn the cat’s interest. Voila—problem solved. Unless, of course, the cat just happens to enjoy toying a bit with the bipeds in the house. That’s been known to happen more than once. And then there are those cats who worry about their humanoids. Like Clotilde. I can tell by her twitching tail that she’s in a twist. “What is it, Clotilde, my love? “You’re worried about your humans? You think they’ll fall in love with baby David and then he’ll be taken away from them? “You want me to do what?” Geez, I’ve just come off a case, and now she wants me to track down the humanoid who gave birth to baby David. That isn’t going to be an easy thing to do. Women who dump babies generally don’t want to be found. And already Detective Dick Tracy is on the case. Boy, did he have an attitude or what? I could see it from a mile off. Every time he looked at that baby he got righteous. Yet he seemed to have a real tender spot. Maybe he just didn’t want to work an abandoned baby case. Probably a step down for a homicide detective. Me, on the other hand, I like it when all the players in the game are still alive. But who says the mother is alive? Holy moly, what if she was murdered and the baby taken and then dumped? I can see that Clotilde is reading my expression and not liking a single thing she sees. Humanoids think that I’m inscrutable, but Clotilde can read me like a book. So I’d better change the content of my thoughts. “Nothing, love. I was just thinking about how to find David’s mama. The blanket and basket are good clues. Dick Tracy noticed them also. And he took them with him when he left. If I wait around, he’ll do the legwork for me…. “What, precious? You want me to start tonight—before the police find her? And you’re going to help me?!” Aye caramba—why do I suddenly feel like Ricky Ricardo when Lucy decided to help him with his career? But the best thing to do is smile and play along. “That would be great. We could work together. Familiar and Clotilde. Yes, that does have a nice ring to it.” Brother, I’m in way deep now. I guess we’re going out to search the backyard for additional clues. MEL CLOSED the files on his desk with a sigh. Within the time frame he’d established, he couldn’t find a single record of a baby of David’s size and gender born in any of Washington’s hospitals that wasn’t accounted for. So that meant a midwife or some other type of health-services delivery. Private clinic. He’d heard of places where wealthy women went to have their children; places with all the frills of a health spa plus the benefit of top physicians. Lots of celebrities opted for these exclusive, and very private, facilities. Or there was the possibility of the extreme opposite—cheap hotel room and midwife. Somehow, though, that just didn’t fit with baby David. This case was going to take a lot of legwork. And, suddenly, he didn’t want to pursue it. Hell, the baby had a good home. He was safe and wanted. If the system acted in a logical way, David would soon legally be David Johnson, only child of loving parents. Maybe he should drop it. Sitting in the busy police station, Mel looked down at his scarred desk. When he’d been three or four, he’d eaten at a table that was nicked and scarred. Him and six dozen other boys. They’d eaten three meals a day there, even when money was short and the food served was oatmeal—morning, noon and night. It wasn’t the food that Mel remembered with a clenched stomach. It was the long nights of being afraid, of wondering if his mother would come for him. She’d promised him that she’d come back for him. Soon. But weeks had passed. Then months. Then years. And she never came back. He’d never seen her again. She was just a memory—a tall, slender woman walking down the hallway, her legs moving as fast as they possibly could as she hurried away from him. As she got near the end of the hallway, she’d begun to run—right into her new life. Leaving him behind. An orphan. A child that no one wanted. No, he couldn’t drop it. Not on his life. “Hey, Mel. What’s going on?” Sonny Caruso dropped his coat on the chair by the desk next to Mel. “Not much.” “You looked like you were planning a bombing, or at least a hijacking. Very big thundercloud on your forehead, buddy.” Mel forced a smile. Sonny Caruso was a handsome, dark-haired detective who had more natural intuition that most women. And the one thing Mel didn’t want was Sonny poking into his past. “Got an abandoned baby. What are you working on?” Mel leaned back in his chair, forcing his body language to be casual. “You’ll love this. We had a woman killed downtown. Beaten to death. Probably a working girl, but she was dressed a little odd. Sort of business suit, so we couldn’t be certain. I put in a call on the radio, notified forensics, etcetera, and guess who shows up?” “Who?” “The number-one advisor to the mayor, Wayman Bishop. He was all over the scene like white on rice.” “Doing what?” Mel was intrigued. Wayman Bishop, who advised Mayor Al Torrell on all things of importance in the city of Washington, D.C., was less concerned about crime in the city than he was about litter. The death of a victim normally wouldn’t ruffle a hair on his head—unless it might have political repercussions. “Nosing around, hunting for facts about ‘the heinous crime.”’ “I hate to be cynical, but it sounds like Mayor Torrell is getting ready to gear up some kind of antiviolence campaign. He’s building his base for the next election. It’s easy to be against crime. What’s hard is doing something to prevent it.” “Exactly what I thought,” Sonny said. He looked into the coffee cup sitting on his desk, made a face and threw the whole thing into the trash. “My wife told me to buy disposable cups. She said I’d never wash mine out. She was right.” “How is Louann?” Mel liked Sonny’s wife. She was a cartoonist, still waiting for a break with a syndicated strip or some steady income. “She’s fine. Working all the time. She’ll get a break eventually.” Mel nodded, but his mind was back on the dead woman and the mayor’s advisor. “So what did Bishop do, have the mayor’s picture taken with the dead woman?” Sonny laughed. “You have a macabre sense of humor, buddy. No, he just lurked around, taking notes. He finally got a look at the woman and then he split like he’d been shot at.” “Any suspects on the murder?” “Usual ones. Spouse, boyfriend, neighbor, pimp, unhappy customer. You know, fill in the blank.” Sonny shook his head. “This job makes it difficult to love my fellow man.” “I know what you mean,” Mel said. “Somebody dropped off a baby at a social event.” “No kidding.” Sonny’s dark eyebrows lifted almost to his hairline. “Posh party?” “Preston Johnson’s.” “Very posh,” Sonny said. “Plenty of money to give a kid a good home. But they won’t keep an abandoned baby.” “They will, if they can. That’s the good news,” Mel said. “I’m just wondering how the natural mother might have known that the Johnsons wanted a child. See, the more I look into this, the more I get that gut feeling that the Johnsons were carefully selected. Whoever put little David in the basket and left him on that doorstep knew exactly what she was doing.” “The plot thickens, eh?” Sonny said. “Yeah,” Mel agreed. “The plot thickens, and I want it up to a real good boil when I find the woman who dumped her kid.” He saw the curious look return to Sonny’s eyes and realized his tone had been a lot harsher than he intended. He stood up, picked up his coat and headed toward the door. “I’m going to run some leads. Good luck with your homicide.” “You bet.” Sonny waved goodbye as he reached for the computer mouse and began his own work. Mel was at a loss for the moment. It would take days to find all the private clinics around Washington, and then collect warrants to search their records. He doubted his superiors would put that much time, manpower and effort into finding a woman who’d thrown her baby away. No, Mel was going to have to work this case mostly on his own. And to do so effectively, he would have to play his hunches. He got in his car and drove over to the brightly lit building that housed one of the nation’s most powerful newspapers. When he found a comfortable spot to watch the employee parking lot, he settled down and waited for Lily Markey to appear. LILY GATHERED UP her things from her desk at the Post and was almost away from her desk when she heard her boss clear his throat behind her. “When can I expect that story on white-collar spousal abuse?” he asked. “I’m working on it.” Lily tucked her notebook in her purse. “What’s the holdup?” Bill Smith asked. “I’m…waiting for an interview to gel.” Lily finally met his gaze. More than anything she wanted to tell her boss the truth, but it was too dangerous. She’d crossed the line from journalist to activist, and Susie Bishop’s safety hung in the balance. If she ran the story on spousal abuse now, it would be a red flag to Wayman Bishop. “Is there something you need to tell me?” Bill asked. He was a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair and above-average intelligence. “Not right now.” She dropped her gaze. “I’ll get the story. You know I always do.” “You’re reputation isn’t in question, Lily. I’m just wondering why you’re acting like a cat on a hot tin roof.” His look was astute and calculating. “Gotta go, Bill.” She flashed him a smile, albeit a forced one. “I have an interview and it may be the icing on the cake.” She thought of something truthful she could add. “I told you when I thought of doing this story that it might be Pulitzer material. I still think that. But I need time to be sure that I get everything just right.” “You’ve got the time, Lily. Just don’t step off in water over your head. You’re up to something. I’m just not sure what it is.” She didn’t bother to answer. Prevarication wasn’t her favorite form of communication, especially with a man she respected as much as Bill Smith. She headed out the door of the newsroom and straight to the grocery store where she picked up some items she hoped would make Susie Bishop a little more comfortable. She didn’t notice the gray sedan that fell in behind her as she drove toward one of Washington’s worst districts. Chapter Three Lily slowed her car to a near crawl as she turned right on Cedar Street. The name was so inappropriate that she allowed herself a bitter chuckle. If there had ever been a tree—or even a blade of grass—along this street, none of the residents had lived long enough to remember it. Whatever green and lovely visions had inspired the name of Cedar Street were long gone. All that remained was bleak pavement, torn and twisted chain-link fencing, broken bottles and broken streetlights. It looked as if a war had been fought in the not-too-distant past and the street abandoned. The only sign of life was the blue flicker of a few television screens in the windows of the run-down homes that she passed. A flash of car lights in the rearview mirror got her attention. She instantly tensed, her hand checking the automatic door lock to be sure she’d clicked it on. In the otherwise deserted street, the approaching car seemed dangerous. She pulled to the curb and waited, noting that the car had hesitated, then picked up speed as it drew abreast of her. She looked at the solitary driver, feeling a sense of shock at the profile she recognized. Detective Mel Haskin. And he was pulling up ahead of her. Fear of being injured instantly gave way to anger. Why was the policeman following her? She was a law-abiding citizen—at least, most of the time. Why was Mel so obviously tailing her? And why hadn’t she paid more attention to who was behind her? At his approach she rolled down her window. “You’d better have a damn good reason for following me, or at the very least a search warrant for my car.” Mel didn’t answer immediately. His gaze swept over the interior of the car, and Lily was glad she’d put the groceries in the trunk. Though the items were innocuous enough, there were things that might make him believe she was visiting someone who was sick. “This is a dangerous neighborhood, Lily. I hope you have a good reason for being here.” She was surprised at his use of her given name. “Good enough, and also personal. What are you doing here? Is it Detective Haskin or Mel?” She saw that he registered her point. And by his next words, she knew he had ignored it. “I’m following you.” His bluntness made her take a deep breath. Had he found out about David? What was he going to do? “What? Do I have an outstanding parking ticket?” She decided to bluff her way through the situation. “Try again.” “I know. I didn’t pay for my tickets to the policeman’s ball.” She put another degree of unpleasantness in her voice. “Give it one more try.” Mel Haskin, on the other hand, was using the condescending tone of a man talking to a child. “You tell me,” Lily said, very angry. “Suspicious behavior,” he said casually. “You’ll have to do better than that,” Lily said. “I’ve got a right to be anywhere I choose, as long as I’m not violating the law. I also have a right not to be harassed by the police.” “Reporters all seem to think they have a lot more rights than other people,” Mel said, his tone still conversational, though his dark eyes crackled with intensity. “I’ll give you one more chance. What do you want? Either tell me or leave me alone. If you don’t comply, I’ll have to go to your superior and explain that you’ve been following me and harassing me.” “You do that—and while you’re there, I want you to explain to my superior what you’re doing in this part of town late at night. This is a far cry from the posh neighborhood where the Johnsons reside. I’m just wondering if your presence in both places somehow links them together.” “I’m working on a story. I’m doing my job.” Lily’s heart rate had tripled, but she knew she had to keep Mel from seeing the effect he was having on her. “I’d believe that if it had been the body of a dead politician that was discovered on the Johnsons’ veranda. Or, say, a woman who was having an affair with one of the Washington officials. Or even the son or daughter of some official who wanted to spill the beans on good old mom or dad.” He paused for effect. “Those things I’d believe—they’re what the media today consider legitimate stories.” “I work on several stories at the same time. Reporters don’t have the luxury of focusing on a single story.” Mel laughed a deep, full laugh that under other circumstances might have triggered a smile on Lily’s face. Instead, her frown deepened. “I’m just curious about what the Post’s premier political reporter has to say about a baby. Yes, a baby is a legitimate story. Readers love stories with fairy-tale endings, and if the Johnsons adopt that baby, he’ll have a wonderful life. I just don’t see you as the reporter to put that Cinderella finish on it, though. You’re too tough.” “You’re getting very close to being insulting.” Lily was shocked that he could get under her skin. Being tough was usually a compliment, but Mel made her sound cold and hard and heartless. “I didn’t realize you were such a romantic, Lily. Reading your byline in the paper, I always had the feeling you were more interested in being the executioner than the fairy godmother.” His words stung, and Lily tightened her hands on the steering wheel. Though one part of her brain knew he was trying to goad her into a response, she couldn’t stop herself. “That’s a damn lie. I don’t identify with the executioner. When people do bad things, I write about it. Just exactly the same way you try to put them in jail.” The more she talked, the hotter she got. She pushed her door open, forcing him to step back, as she got out of the car. “I didn’t realize you were so sensitive,” Mel said, his amusement only further inflaming her. “I’m not overly sensitive. I’m a hardworking reporter who tries to write the best story she can find. I don’t make up facts and I don’t persecute individuals, but by God if I get the goods on them, then I don’t cry in my coffee when I hang them out to dry in print.” “What terrible deed can you pin on an infant?” he asked. “Not the infant, you nitwit. The fa—” She barely caught herself in time. “What’s this personal vendetta you have against me?” “It’s not personal, Lily. I just want to know what your role is regarding the abandoned baby. Right about now, I’m sure you have one.” She inhaled sharply and knew she had to gather her wits and keep her mouth shut. Mel Haskin was a superb interrogator, and he’d just gotten her to admit some very important information about her private views on life. “My role is to write a story about this baby, if there’s a story worth writing. And I won’t know that until I look into the facts a little more. So tell me, Detective, why are you following me? And this time I won’t be distracted. I want the truth.” “I think you know more about this baby than you’re letting on. See, I don’t buy it that the primo political reporter for the paper is suddenly going to write a women’s-section story about abandoned kids. I know the newspaper business. You’ve worked hard to be respected as a political journalist. You don’t want to go back to writing touchy-feely pieces on babies.” Although Mel angered her, Lily had to give him credit for understanding her business far better than she’d ever have thought. She’d busted her chops getting accepted as a political writer. Even though journalism was an area where women rose farther and faster than most other professions, there was still a glass ceiling. Even if she’d wanted to write a “touchy-feely piece,” as Mel put it, she couldn’t afford to show that kind of weakness. “That still doesn’t tell me why you’re tailing me.” She had to get the focus of the conversation off her and back where it belonged—on Mel. “Like I said, I’m curious to see what you’re up to. I’m playing a hunch.” “That borders on harassment.” She could see she wasn’t calling his bluff. “I don’t think my boss or your lawyer would agree.” “I don’t like being followed.” Mel nodded. “I’ll note your objections. If you want me to stop, why don’t you tell me what you know about this mysterious baby?” Lily felt her frustration grow. She’d already wasted fifteen minutes with the detective. Susie was waiting for her. Waiting and probably fretting. And she had to figure out how to write her story without putting Susie in more danger. “I have a busy night planned, officer. Now, if you’ll excuse me….” She felt his hand on her arm. “What are you doing down here?” He nodded at the street, which was no longer empty. Several shadowy figures had appeared at the end of the block, and they were standing and waiting, like wolves packed for the kill. Looking at the four men, Lily felt a tremor of fear shoot through her. The neighborhood was bad. She was going to have to get Susie out of here. The only reason they’d chosen this part of town was because it was one area where Wayman Bishop’s influence didn’t extend. No, this part of town was under the sway of gangs and poverty, and not even the advisor to the mayor, with all of his power and pull, had figured out a way to bring it under his control. “As I said before, I’m working on a story,” Lily said. “I hope it’s worth risking your life.” “I’ll be careful. I always am. Besides, those guys aren’t any more dangerous than a roomful of senators.” To her surprise, Mel laughed out loud. The sound of his laughter worked like a talisman against the men at the end of the block. They quickly withdrew, disappearing into the shadows. “You have a point there, Lily. But where senators may ruin your career, those guys might kill you.” To her surprise, she found herself staring into his dark eyes. It was a second that felt like an instant electric charge—and an eternity. She saw things in those eyes—a flicker of pain and caring, and keen intelligence. It was so sudden and so unexpected, she forgot to breathe. “That would be a real loss,” Mel added softly. The unexpected compliment in his words made Lily draw in a sharp breath. “I have to go,” she said, suddenly more aware than she wanted to be of how handsome Mel was. This tall, athletic man kept himself in shape. He also normally kept himself at a distance, which was part of his appeal. He was good to look at and had been completely unapproachable—until this moment. “Go home,” Mel admonished her. “Whatever your story, it can wait until morning.” “Absolutely,” she said, hurrying to get back inside her car. The wind had picked up and she found she was shaking. She rolled the window down a crack. “Please quit following me.” “I’ve got to head back to the office,” Mel said. “I’m trusting you to have the good sense to get out of this part of town.” “Thanks for the advice, Detective.” Lily started her car and drove away at a brisk clip. She turned right at the next main road and headed back toward the safer parts of the city. Mel’s lights were behind her for several minutes, and then he turned away. Gradually she slowed. And stopped. For fifteen minutes she waited to see if he’d suddenly appear behind her. But he didn’t. He really was gone. Backtracking, she headed toward Cedar Street and Susie. This time she watched the rearview mirror. She couldn’t afford to let Mel discover where she was going. He was already suspicious of her. Now she had to move Susie—and fast. MEL GAVE UP the idea of tailing Lily again. She was too smart a lady for that. He drove home, wondering exactly what her role in the baby story was. At first he’d been bluffing, but the longer he’d talked with her the more certain he’d become that she was involved with baby David. But how? He’d read her newspaper stories. She wasn’t a sentimentalist. Just the opposite. She was one tough cookie. He pulled into his drive and slowly went into his house. He’d bought it a few years before, an investment in a town where real estate was better than high-tech stocks, and a lot safer. The emptiness of the house hit him every time he opened the front door. No matter how much furniture he bought—the bright throw pillows, the warm and inviting sofas and chairs—the house seemed empty. One reason he worked so many long hours was that he didn’t particularly like going home. He considered cooking something for dinner—a very late dinner, as it happened. It was, actually, closer to breakfast. Instead, he went into the bedroom and started to undress. His mind was on Lily Markey. He remembered the first time he’d seen her—at a double homicide where a member of the president’s cabinet had killed his wife and then himself. It had been a bloody, sad scene, and Lily had hung tough with all the boys. But he’d seen the horror deep in her green eyes. And he’d somehow sensed it wasn’t the blood she found so awful, but the waste. During the past year, he’d run across her at different events. She’d been at the capitol when he’d testified about the need for more money in the public schools for parenting classes. She’d done a good job on the story and had even called him for a quote the next day. She’d also been in the precinct house a time or two, checking facts. He realized, with a start, that he had a vivid memory of every single time he’d seen Lily. Well, with her auburn hair and sizzling green eyes, she wasn’t a woman that a man would forget. He grinned to himself as he remembered the wolf whistles and comments that followed in her wake whenever she left. Boy, that would really make her angry. And the idea of her anger made his smile widen. She had a temper. Was it her coloring or her convictions? That was a question he would like to find the answer to. After he found the mother of the abandoned baby. Lily knew something about that. He wasn’t sure what, but something. He could almost smell it on her. Somehow, he knew it was linked with her work. So what would high-level politics and an abandoned baby have to do with one another? As he stretched out to try and sleep, he knew it would be a night of unanswered questions and little rest. But it wasn’t all bad, spending the night with Lily Markey. At that thought, he felt a sudden desire. Yeah, there were a lot worse ways to spend an evening. “EVERYTHING’S FINE,” Lily reassured Susie Bishop. She put the groceries on the Formica table in the tiny kitchen and immediately began to open a can of chicken and rice soup. “I want you to eat, okay?” “I was worried,” Susie admitted. “You were gone so long.” “I had to run by the office,” Lily told her. “My boss caught me.” She decided against mentioning Mel Haskin. Susie was already frightened enough. It had taken her weeks to win Susie’s trust, long hours of conversation and personal revelations. It was only when Susie really believed that Lily understood the emotional quicksand of abuse that Susie had finally trusted “a reporter.” Working in Lily’s favor had also been the fact that Susie had no one else to turn to. “Did you check on David?” Lily hesitated. Was it better to answer the questions about the baby or simply say she didn’t know? Susie had given up the child. At least physically. What was the best way to help her emotionally accept that the baby was now someone else’s child? “He’s fine.” Lily knew she didn’t have the heart not to answer. She carried the soup and crackers in to Susie. “Eat this and then we’re up and walking. We need to leave here fast.” “Where will we go?” Susie’s eyes widened, a clear blue fear. “Some place safer. There were some men on the street. They frightened me. I don’t like the idea of you being here alone. And it isn’t safe for Patti to come and go, either.” Susie looked down into the bowl of soup. “A lot of people are risking serious injury to help me. Why?” Lily realized she didn’t have a real answer to that question. Why was she doing this? Risking her life and her career? “Because it’s what should be done,” she said simply. “There are good people in the world, Susie. People who want to do the right thing because it is right.” “I thought for sure Wayman had either bought everyone or had them hurt so badly they stayed hidden.” Lily knew it was a quote she’d use in her story. So many lucky people—men and women with safe lives—didn’t understand how a woman could put up with abuse. They didn’t understand the systematic destruction of all safety nets until a woman—or a child—believed there was no one powerful enough to help them escape. They were all alone. Susie, even now, didn’t believe she was safe. Lily had a terrible thought—would Susie ever believe she was safe? Would she ever have the peace of knowing that the sacrifice of her son had been the only choice, for both of their survivals? “Don’t worry about Wayman. In just a few hours, you’ll be far out of his reach.” “And David? He’s safe, isn’t he?” Lily nodded at the soup bowl. “If you’ll eat, I’ll tell you.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “The Johnsons have already spoken with Judge Patterson. There will be a hearing Monday, and I’m sure the Johnsons will be awarded temporary custody of the baby. Once that happens, then it’s pretty much a done deal. David will have a wonderful, safe home. In a matter of weeks, no one will even question where he came from. He’ll be safe for the rest of his life.” It wasn’t all true. A lot of it, in fact, was the picture Lily wanted to paint. It was what Susie needed to hear to have the strength to keep going. “He’s such a beautiful baby.” Susie lowered the soup bowl and brushed the tears from her face. “He’ll grow up to be happy and handsome and with every opportunity I could never give him.” “He will,” Lily agreed. “Because you loved him enough to save him.” Susie nodded. “And now we have to go.” She put the bowl on the bedside table and swung her legs down to the floor. “I’m ready to walk. We have to get going. What about my passport?” Lily could only admire the other woman’s courage. “I should have it for you by tomorrow afternoon. The flight’s already booked in your fake name. We just have to find a safe place until tomorrow.” She had a sudden thought. “We can go to my place.” “That might not be smart. You’re already in this deep enough. If Wayman ever found out I was at your home, he really would kill you.” Susie eased to her feet, her face grimacing from the pain. She wobbled a moment, but steadied herself and stood erect. “That’s not so bad.” “Look. It’s less than twenty-four hours before your flight leaves. We can manage to keep you safe and hidden for that long, and I think this place is a lot more dangerous than hiding out at my house for a few hours.” She had a few concerns, but mostly she wanted to get off Cedar Street and away from the sense of doom that hung over the place. She clicked on the small television. She’d missed the evening news, but there was a local station that carried a midnight cap of events in the city. She instantly regretted her decision when the first image that flashed on the screen was a close-up of Wayman Bishop. He was looking down at something, and the camera pulled back to reveal a body covered by a sheet. “My God.” Susie’s voice was terrified, and just before she collapsed, Lily grabbed her and settled her onto the bed. Both women stared at the television in fascination as the camera closed in on the reporter. “Mayor Torrell’s advisor Wayman Bishop is on the scene. He’s checking out the murder firsthand and has a statement from the mayor,” the reporter said. She held the microphone out to Wayman. “Mayor Torrell abhors this senseless violence against women, and the mayor is going to make it his number-one priority to begin the systematic prosecution of men who prey on the women of this city.” He pointed to the discreetly covered corpse. “This woman is a victim, and she will be vindicated.” Lily snapped off the television, but she knew the damage was done. “What’s he up to?” Susie asked, her voice loaded with fear. “It doesn’t matter,” Lily said, forcing her voice to sound strong and assured. “By this time tomorrow, you’ll be safe in England. That’s all you have to think about.” Chapter Four So, the daffodils are blooming, a sure sign that Jack Frost is on the run. Clotilde tells me that Rose was up at the crack of dawn and on the Internet ordering a special baby outfit for little David to wear to court Monday. Special delivery, since none of the shops were open Sunday morning. That baby is going to be spoiled rotten. But Clotilde has a point. What if Rose and Preston aren’t allowed to keep the little boy? Heartbreak won’t begin to describe what will happen to them. It’s a sticky wicket, as a British kitty would say. But the Internet is a good idea—at least for checking out the maker of that basket. I’ve been doing my research, and there’s a cute little boutique not far from the Smithsonian that specializes in exactly that kind of basket. Clotilde and I have a date this morning to go there and do a little snooping around. Of course the shop is closed, which is perfect for me. I don’t want to buy anything, I just want to look at the books. I’m wondering how Clotilde is going to take to breaking and entering, sneaking rides on public transit, dodging humanoids who either want to adopt us or have the pound pick us up—all the myriad facts of my life as a P.I. which she’s been protected from. I can’t explain it to Clotilde, but I’m having some trouble with this case. She wants me to find David’s mother and make sure that she’s not going to snatch little David back. I’m just not so sure I want to find this woman. I mean what kind of mother would toss her kid? Maybe it would be best if we just let her disappear. See, Clotilde has led a charmed life. Her parents were owned and loved by a wonderful old couple in midtown. When she and her brothers and sisters were born, it was a blessed event. Every single little kitten was wanted. And the humanoids made sure that each kitty was given a loving home. That’s not how it works for a lot of cats. Even now, after years of living with Peter and Eleanor, it’s still painful for me to think about my youth. I never really knew my father. My mother was a beautiful calico. As most cat-lovers know, calico cats are always female. From the day she was born, her humanoids hated her. They didn’t want another female kitty. They didn’t want kittens, and they didn’t want to take the trouble to take her to the vet and get her spayed. So as soon as she was old enough to eat solid foot, they put her in a car and drove to a bad part of town and threw her out in an alley. They never even named her, but she named herself. Tash. Short for Succotash, that Indian dish of mixed vegetables. She was like that—a mixture of black and white and orange—beautiful. Little and dainty. But life in an alley is hard, and pretty soon, she found herself in the family way. When I was born, I had two sisters, but they didn’t live. There wasn’t enough food, and they weren’t as strong as I was. I don’t know how Mom managed to keep herself and me fed for those first few weeks. I was just getting old enough to hunt for food and forage in the garbage cans when Mom didn’t come home one night. I found her the next day. She’d been run over. They didn’t even bother to move her out of the street. That was the day I left the alley and decided to find a better part of town to live in. I’d been watching humanoids come and go. I followed a car with people dressed in expensive clothes and ended up in a neighborhood not too far from here. I must say, the quality of the garbage was definitely superior. But it was also harder to get to. At first I thought someone would want me, but they didn’t. They’d throw rocks at me for getting in the garbage or trying to catch a bird. I guess because they had plenty to eat, they never considered that I was hungry. Anyway, to make a long story short, I was nabbed to be an animal used for experiments. I thought that alley was hell until I discovered what humans could do to an animal in the name of science. That’s when the microfilm was implanted in me, and I became a pawn in a game I didn’t understand. I escaped and met Eleanor, and she met Peter, and as the old saying goes, the rest is history. Well, enough about the past. Thinking about it doesn’t change the facts. I lucked out and found the best bipeds on the face of the earth to love me. And I have Clotilde. Now I have to do this thing that she’s asked of me. I only hope I can protect her from the facts of the real world for unwanted cats and dogs. It’s time to head for that little shop, so I now have to go spring Clotilde from her house, which shouldn’t be all that hard since Rose and Preston are so absorbed with the baby. Something good has come of this—Clotilde will have a bit more freedom and a lot more time for amor? with yours truly. MEL PACED the sidewalk in front of Annie’s Boutique, waiting for Annie Anlage to arrive and open the shop. He hadn’t been completely truthful to the shop owner—she’d bought his story of an abandoned baby hook, line and sinker. Only he hadn’t told her that he intended to prosecute the mother for abandonment. He’d led her to believe he was trying to find the mother to make sure she was okay. He heard the clack of high heels and turned to meet the petite woman who breathlessly opened the door of the shop and ushered him inside. Out of the corner of his eye, Mel caught sight of two cats slipping through the door, too. If they were her cats, he was surprised she let them out on the street. Traffic was generally heavy around this part of town and untended animals didn’t stand a chance of survival. He was about to mention the cats when Annie waved her hand around the shop. “Which basket? Can you find one similar? Maybe I’ll remember who bought it. They’re all handmade and I generally remember my clients.” Mel took a breath. He’d never imagined there could be so many different shapes, designs, colors and intricate patterns of woven materials. Some were bamboo, others reed, some vine, some seemed to be paper or fabric. They were all exquisite. “It was a big basket. Like a baby thing. You know, a carrier, with a handle.” “A bassinet?” Annie asked, smiling at him. “You don’t have children, do you, Detective?” “No ma’am.” He didn’t bother to add that it wasn’t likely he ever would. He didn’t have enough faith that he could do a child justice. “Let me see.” She led him to a section of the store that contained larger, more elaborate baskets. “Like that one,” he said, relieved to see one similar to the one baby David had been left in. “The Bullrushes model,” Annie said, her voice filled with amusement. “I only made six of those this year. It shouldn’t be too hard to find out who bought them.” Mel examined the basket, surreptitiously bumping the price tag. His eyes widened. It was nearly four hundred dollars. For a basket! Annie was already on her way to the desk where she began flipping through invoices. “You have to keep in mind that a lot of times the baskets are bought for gifts. The person who paid for it may have given it away.” She gave a little cry of success. “Here’s the last one. Yes, it was bought about two weeks ago by—it was a cash purchase.” Her brow furrowed and Mel suddenly felt the lead grow cold. “Is there a name?” “I almost always write the name and address. The baskets are guaranteed. It’s part of my policy.” She flipped through several more pages. “You know, I remember this purchase. The woman was adamant that she wouldn’t leave a name. It was very peculiar, like she thought I’d sell her information to some kind of list.” Or discover that she was planning to dump her baby, Mel thought, but he kept his mouth shut. “She was a striking woman. Redheaded with huge green eyes. She said it was a gift for someone.” Mel noticed the black cat sitting behind a huge basket full of peacock feathers. The cat was listening as if he understood every word. “I gather this woman wasn’t pregnant?” Mel asked. The image of a tall redhead burned into his brain. She kept showing up in the middle of baby stories. Lily Markey. “No, she wasn’t. I mean if she was, she wasn’t showing. She was a slender, athletic woman. Tall, very striking. I had the impression that I’d seen her before and when I asked her about it, she got all huffy.” She shook her head. “Let me look up the other purchases.” In a moment she had the list for five names, complete with addresses and telephone numbers. Mel instantly discounted two of the names because he knew the women—and he’d seen them with their new babies. Annie’s Boutique was obviously one shop where the women behind the men of Washington shopped. “Thank you, Ms. Anlage,” he said. “You’ve been very helpful.” “I just hope the mother is okay. You know, all of the women who come in here are so excited about their babies. I used to work in a department store, and some of the women who came in to buy baby things acted like they were going to prison. I—” “Thanks for your help,” Mel said. He hurried out of the shop. He knew the kind of women Annie Anlage was talking about. He knew them well. His mother had been one, and as soon as she could dump her responsibility, she’d done so. The lead he’d obtained wasn’t conclusively connected to Lily Markey. After all, there were thousands of slender, redheaded women with green eyes in Washington. But it was passing strange that wherever he turned in this case, Lily kept popping up. Maybe it was time to pay a visit to her place. OKAY, CLOTILDE, now’s the time for kitty action. I heard everything Mel Haskin heard, and I watched his mind click to the same conclusion. Of course, he was slightly behind me, because cats are simply smarter than Homo sapiens. But he got to the end of the puzzle, nonetheless. Which means I need to re-evaluate all the data regarding baby David. Lily Markey is involved in this. I can’t be positive, but I think she might have been the delivery girl. I do know she isn’t the baby’s mother. So who is? Maybe her sister? A friend? Someone she works with? How did she become involved in such a scheme? There’s a phone book and now I have to find Lily’s address. For a kitty who’s only traveled in the back seat of a Rolls, Clotilde is going to learn the wonders of public transit today. Time’s a wastin’. Here’s the address, 1414 Union Street. I know exactly where that is. Dodge, Clotilde! Ms. Anlage has spotted you and she’s making those noises that humanoids make when they see something adorable. Watch out, my princess, or you’re going to be adopted. I’ve got the door, let’s make a break for freedom. LILY EXAMINED the passport with a growing sense of satisfaction. It wasn’t even nine in the morning and the ball of freedom for Susie Bishop was already rolling. She had a fake passport under the name Sue Bristol, and she was headed for Heathrow Airport in London, where she would be met by an old friend of Lily’s, a woman who could help Susie build a new life. “I’m afraid,” Susie said, looking at the passport in Lily’s hands. “Wayman will have someone at the airport watching for me. He knows I’m going to try and escape.” “I don’t think he’ll expect you to go to Europe,” Lily said. “You’re probably right about that.” But Susie’s voice belied the words she spoke. “Do you think we could call and check on David?” It was the question Lily had been dreading. “I think it would be best if we didn’t.” “You could say you were working on a story. I don’t want to talk to the Johnsons. I just want…” “I know, Susie. You just want to make the connection, to know again that David is safe.” How was she ever going to help Susie let go of the child? “He is. I’m sure of it. And you have to be too.” “I didn’t think it would be so hard.” She brushed fresh tears away. “How can I do this?” Lily went to her and put her hands on her shoulders. “How can you not? What would happen if you went and got David? Where would you go? A single woman, you have a chance of escaping. Your husband will be looking for a pregnant woman or a woman with a child.” She didn’t bother to point out that Susie was going to have a hard time keeping herself together in a new life. The baby was far better off with the Johnsons. Susie knew it, too. “Everything you say is true. It’s just that—this isn’t right.” “Your other option is to press charges against your husband.” It was something they’d already discussed. “And find myself declared an unfit mother. Or dead.” Susie had made no bones about the fact that Wayman could destroy her reputation or even have her killed, and in such a way that he’d never be prosecuted for the crime. He had that kind of power. Susie wasn’t exaggerating. “Your flight is at four.” Lily picked up the paperwork. “It’s all arranged. You’ll be fine. I know it.” She almost dropped the sheaf of papers when she heard the knock on the door. It was so unexpected. She jumped to her feet as Susie scurried into the bedroom. “Who’s there?” Lily asked. “Mel Haskin.” She closed her eyes to give herself a few seconds to think. What was he doing at her door? And what was she going to do? Quickly she tucked the passport and paperwork into a drawer. “I’m coming.” She glanced around the room to make certain that no sign of Susie had been left in the room, then she opened the door. “This better be good,” she warned him. She was caught unaware by the excitement she suddenly felt as their eyes connected. “I’m curious about some things,” Mel said, striking a casual pose against the doorway. “I’m busy,” she replied. “Maybe later on in the week I’ll have time for your curiosity.” She started to close the door, but his hand halted her. “You purchased a basket from Annie’s Boutique. A very nice basket. Strangely enough, exactly like the basket that the baby was left at the Johnson house in.” Lily did everything she could to hide the sudden fear that swept over her. She’d paid cash for the basket. Susie had insisted on buying it—David had to be left in something wonderful, something that would let his new parents understand he was a special child, a wanted child. Now Lily regretted that she hadn’t held firm in her objections. But it was too late for hindsight. “Don’t bother denying it. The boutique owner positively identified you.” “Bully for her,” Lily said, taking the tack of tough reporter. “Lily, I don’t think I have to tell you that you’re playing a dangerous game.” Lily suddenly remembered that Susie could overhear every word they said. She stepped into the hallway. She almost tripped over a black cat that shot through the open door and into her apartment. “Hey!” she yelled, as a second cat darted inside. “Those look exactly like the cats from the Johnsons. And the boutique.” Mel craned his head around Lily for a better view. “I’ll help you catch them.” He started inside. Lily slammed the door shut behind her. “They’re mine. Leave them alone.” Mel’s brow was furrowed. “I could swear those are the same cats.” Lily gave him a long look. “So cats are following you around, are they? That gives a lot of credence to your detective work.” “Are you denying you bought the basket?” “I bought a basket. A gift for a friend. So what about it? Is there a law against buying baskets?” She stepped closer and caught the scent of his cologne. “I think you’re about to step across the line, Detective Haskin. You’ve obviously got it in for me for some reason, and you’re trying real hard to tie me into something that I’m not involved in.” “Oh, you’re involved. I just don’t know how.” He stared directly into her eyes. “Let me ask you something. I saw that baby. He was well tended. He’s been taken in by a family who wants him. Why are you so determined to make a case out of this?” Mel didn’t answer instantly. His gaze held hers, and for a moment she thought she saw a flicker of pain. Then it was gone, replaced by a hardness that made her want to step away from him. “I don’t like women who shirk their responsibilities by dumping babies on doorsteps.” “That’s a mighty big assumption on your part.” “Not so big. The baby was abandoned. It was left like a ham or a basket of tomatoes—something that someone might want. But there were no guarantees. What if no one had gone out on that veranda for a day or two? The baby would have starved to death.” Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/caroline-burnes/familiar-lullaby/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.