The Rookie Page 3

  The three deadbeats in the back row didn’t seem to have enough brainpower between them to come up with something so devious. No, when she thought of devious, she thought of David Brown. Acting as if she was lucky he’d given her a moment of his time. He knew darn well what the consequences of his illegal actions were, and he had the arrogance to accuse her of persecuting him! And then to walk off as if stealing someone else’s work and claiming it as his own was no big deal. He definitely had the brains and the audacity to threaten someone.

  But she’d received that note before he’d learned of his certain probation and possible expulsion. Rachel released her nose and blew out a weary sigh. So much for motive.

  She pulled her planner from her bag and read through the names on the class roster. Joey King? He certainly was quiet and mysterious enough, sitting there class after class in his dark coat and never saying a word. He was pulling a C. But at least he was doing his own work. Amber? Kelly? She shook her head. They were more interested in the young men in class than in anything she had to say. In fact, Amber had latched on to David’s arm today. Not the wisest move, in Rachel’s opinion. But a poor choice in men certainly wasn’t a criminal offense.

  Rachel laughed out loud and shared the joke with her baby. “If it was, I’d be in jail right now.”

  She had fallen for Simon Livesay’s dark good looks that first day of residency at the private psychiatric center in Topeka. After working side-by-side for a year, sharing research and steamy nights of passion, they’d eloped to Las Vegas.

  She’d loved his intellect, his sense of humor and his worldly ways.

  She hadn’t loved the string of affairs that started before their first anniversary.

  With backgrounds as therapists, they couldn’t help but attempt a reconciliation. But ultimately, their marriage had been doomed to failure. She wanted children. Simon only wanted the fun that came in making them.

  They’d parted amicably enough, splitting their successful practice and their lives fifty-fifty.

  Rachel closed her planner and dropped it onto the desk. She looked around at the spotless organization of her office and drifted to the window. Pressing her hand against the cool metal frame, she looked outside at the bustle. Students hurrying to class. A pair of professors talking intently. There was even a group of young men dodging and diving in the wintertime ritual of a snowball fight.

  She turned and faced the empty silence of her office again.

  Fifty-fifty. Half a life. That’s how she’d felt for so long.

  She cradled the precious being growing within her. She was honest enough to admit that fear of a life half-lived, as much as the loud ticking of her biological clock, had prompted her to visit the fertility clinic. Since she couldn’t trust a man to make her happy, she’d turned to her work, and she’d turn to her baby. They’d have a life together. A safe life. A life full of love, where an adult made a commitment and saw the relationship through, no matter what.

  Satisfied with the choices she had made, Rachel ignored the baby’s protests and sat down to review her notes for an upcoming counseling session. Gradually, the chill from outside worked its way into the room. Rachel pulled her coat from the back of her chair and shrugged it around her shoulders.

  The comforting rush of warmth reminded her of a similar feeling she’d experienced earlier in the hallway. The idea of a warm hug made her think of Josh Tanner.

  The big, brassy-haired student who distracted more than one set of female eyes during her lectures had hovered outside her office. She’d been relieved to find him standing there, strategically positioned between her and David’s buddies, Lance and Shelton. Had she imagined something more than idle curiosity had prompted him to stay and witness the exchange with David Brown? As improper as the thought might be, she’d been grateful that he’d hung around.

  David hadn’t actually threatened her. But she’d still felt threatened.

  If Josh Tanner hadn’t been there, she would have been alone with David and his friends. That prospect was more unsettling than her fears of simply being alone.

  Once David had left the office, she’d felt Josh’s gaze on her. Like that warm hug. In a moment of weak relief, she’d ensnared herself in the bright-blue sky of his eyes. Those eyes had seemed older than they had in class when he’d pulled that B.S. answer out of his hat. They’d seemed kind. Concerned. For her. He’d been concerned for her.

  Rachel shook aside the notion before that soft, tended feeling overtook her again. Josh Tanner had been raised right, that was all. The young man had compassion. No doubt she’d projected some damsel-in-distress pheromone that had prompted him to hang around.

  Whatever his reason, she was glad he’d been there. For those few brief minutes in time, she hadn’t felt quite so alone. She’d felt safe. She’d almost thanked him. No. She’d almost run into his arms and asked him to hold her. But rational thought had kicked in. Josh was a student. She was his professor, a good fifteen years his senior. It would hardly be ethical for her to turn to him for any personal sort of comfort.

  She’d handle this threat—if there really was anything to it—alone. If she could raise a baby by herself, she could handle a disgruntled student. She could tackle a piece of paper stuck on her windshield.

  Shoving aside any lingering fears or fantasies, she reached for her planner again and thumbed to the page of phone listings. By the time she’d punched in the number for the Washburn Fertility Clinic, her usual confidence had returned.

  It was high time she found out who Daddy was.

  Chapter Two

  “Dr. Livesay, all due respect, but you don’t know what it’s like to lose a baby.”

  Lucy Holcomb sat in the chair across from Rachel, wringing her hands. The twenty-year-old was even more nervous than usual today. Was she still taking her prescribed antidepressant medication? Or was there some new crisis turning the young woman’s life upside down?

  Rachel resisted the urge to stand and pace, keeping her eight months of pregnant belly out of Lucy’s direct line of sight. “It’s true I haven’t personally experienced what you’re going through, and I can’t fix it for you. But I can help by listening. Look at all the progress you’ve made so far.”

  Lucy tossed her curly chestnut hair over one shoulder and stood to circle the room. Twice. “Ever since the miscarriage, it’s like Kevin and I are fighting all the time. I blame him because he wasn’t around when the contractions started, and he blames me because I didn’t take care of the baby.”

  “You know it’s no one’s fault,” Rachel reminded her. “Your O.B. doctor told you as much. There was something wrong with the development of the fetus, and your body handled the situation with a spontaneous abortion. You were progressing with your pregnancy just as the doctor had ordered. Sometimes tragedies like that happen, and, unfortunately, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  “But the guilt…” Tears welled up in Lucy’s eyes and overflowed. “It’s not just grief. I feel so guilty.”

  Rachel finally stood and took Lucy a tissue. She leaned her hip against the desk in a casual pose. “That’s normal. You can’t beat yourself up over that. We all deal with loss in different ways. Feel different emotions. This is the way that’s right for you.”

  Lucy’s mascara blotched in circles around her big, brown eyes. She blew her nose into the tissue. “But Kevin is so angry with me. Sometimes he’s sad and we cry about it and we talk. Then, next thing I know, he’s on my case over every little thing.”

  Her outburst of tears ended on a tiny hiccup. “He says we should have another baby.”

  Rachel kept her face a placid mask. Oh lord, two kids barely out of their teens, dealing with the loss of one child, anxious to dive into pregnancy again.

  “Do you want another baby?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe—if it’s what Kevin wants.”

  “What about what you want? I think you and Kevin should talk some more.”

  “But that’s the problem.
He won’t just sit and talk to me like he used to.” Lucy’s gaze lit on Rachel’s protruding stomach. “Maybe a new baby would make him pay attention to me again.”

  “Lucy, you and Kevin have issues you need to resolve before you engage in unprotected sex again.” Creating a new life wouldn’t solve the problems of the existing one. “Would he come in and talk with me?”

  “I don’t know.” Lucy shrugged helplessly. “I could ask him.”

  “If not me, I can give you some names of several reputable counselors.”

  “Okay.”

  Her phone buzzed and Rachel leaned back over her desk to read the number of the incoming call. It was a message she’d been expecting. Rachel stood and smiled at Lucy. They’d run a few minutes over their scheduled time already. “I need to take this. Will you be okay?”

  Lucy sniffed. “Sure.”

  Rachel urged Lucy to check out the bathroom and freshen her makeup before venturing out to catch her bus. “I’ll see you next week, won’t I? Even if Kevin doesn’t come with you?”

  The young woman dredged up half a smile that revealed the beauty in her face and made her seem terribly young to be dealing with such heavy emotions. “I’ll be here.”

  “Good. I’ll see you then. Call if you need to.”

  “Bye, Dr. Livesay.”

  When the door shut behind her patient, Rachel picked up the phone, blaming her tardiness on her laborious walk.

  “Andrew Washburn here. You said you had a concern about the confidentiality of your pregnancy?” In person, he was a gruff, blustery man whose snowy-white hair and mustache reminded her of Colonel Mustard from her childhood game of Clue. But on the phone, he betrayed a blend of shock and concern that made him sound more like a doting old father figure. Which was an odd image to spring to mind for a man whose clinic had fathered hundreds of babies.

  “Nothing like getting right to the point.” Rachel pulled the wadded-up note from her coat pocket and spread it flat against the desktop. “I received a message this morning from someone calling himself ‘Daddy.’ Basically, he claims that my baby is his, and that he plans to take her from me.”

  Dr. Washburn’s response was half laugh, half snort. “What? That’s preposterous. Our donors and clients are completely anonymous, and are never informed as to when or even if their sperm have been used. Their relationship with us ends after their donation has been made.”

  Rachel sighed, schooling her patience. “Someone thinks he knows. He says he wants what’s his.”

  “I assure you, the clinic is not to blame here.” She heard a sound in the background, like the shuffling of papers or the tapping of buttons on a keyboard. “No one but myself and a few bonded staff members have access to the sperm donors’ names. There is no way a donor could find out if he was the father of your child.”

  Rachel twirled her finger into the curling phone cord, wanting to believe him. “Are you sure?”

  “The donor’s name isn’t even listed in your file. Here it is. Only the number is recorded. 93579.”

  “Can you tell me who 93579 is?” she asked.

  Washburn’s laugh this time seemed more genuine. “Now that would be betraying his confidence.”

  Rachel couldn’t see the humor in anything that might pose a threat to her baby.

  “Tell you what. I’ll cross-reference the donor’s file and see if there’s anything there that would make me suspicious of his having the opportunity to contact you.”

  “What would make you suspicious?” Rachel pulled her shoulders back and stood up straighter. Was there a possibility the father knew her? “I thought you screened all your donor candidates.”

  “We do. We do. But his social circle might cross yours somewhere that we missed before. Perhaps you let the number slip and he recognized it.”

  Social circles, huh? That would require a social life. Of which she had none. Her life revolved around school and her baby. Other than a few solitary errands and her twice-weekly trip to the Y for a water-aerobics class, she spent her time either on campus or at home. “I don’t think so, Dr. Washburn. The donor’s number is nothing I’ve ever discussed with anyone but you. But I’d appreciate any information you could give me.”

  “I’ll read through the file and call you tomorrow.” She overlooked the patronizing gratitude in his voice. The man was probably relieved she hadn’t pushed the issue any further.

  “Thank you.”

  By the time she hung up the phone she felt exhausted. The baby had snuggled into a comfortable position and fallen asleep. But Rachel couldn’t afford to surrender to her own fatigue—be it physical or emotional.

  Maybe that note was just a stupid prank perpetrated by one of her students. But she couldn’t afford to just let it slide without checking out every possibility.

  Her baby’s future depended on it.

  JOSH STIRRED THE SPOON around in his mug of coffee. He hadn’t added any sugar, but it gave him something to do while he waited for his contact to join him at the secluded table of the Bookstore Coffee House, a few blocks west of the UMKC campus.

  Almost as if the thought had summoned him, a trim, well-built man with glossy black hair and golden-brown eyes slid into the seat across from him. “So, how’s college life treating you? You flunking any of your classes yet?”

  Josh looked up and grinned at A. J. Rodriguez. He was learning to appreciate the undercover detective’s dry sense of humor. He responded in kind. “I’m doing well enough to maintain my self-respect, but not so well that I can’t fit in with the party crowd.”

  A.J. sipped on the frothy cappuccino he’d brought with him. “Gotten any invitations yet?”

  “Yeah. I’m heading to a party tonight. I’ve been told that if I can find my way into the back room, I can get my hands on more than a free beer.”

  His companion nodded. “Good. Remember, don’t push too hard at first. Find out who your friends are. If you do spot some meth, just note who has it and if it’s all for private use or split up for resale.”

  Josh shrugged. “I know the drill. I overlook the underage drinking because this is reconnaissance, not arrest time. I’ll do my job. I know Lieutenant Cutler is waiting for me to screw up so he can deny my promotion. Besides the fact I’ve earned that detective shield, I don’t intend to give him the satisfaction.”

  A.J. raised his hands in mock surrender. “Cutler rides everybody hard. ‘By the book’ is not always a bad way to go.”

  “You follow your own rules and you made detective.” A.J.’s smile flashed bright white against his olive skin. “That’s because I’m a charming Hispanic and the precinct had to meet its quota for ranking minority officers.”

  Josh seriously doubted A.J. had ever achieved his successes on anything less than his own merit. But he played along with the joke. “So you’re saying if you had blond hair, blue eyes and your cousin was captain of the precinct, you’d still be walking a beat?”

  “If I had blond hair and blue eyes in the neighborhood where I walked a beat, I’d be toast.” A.J. swirled the coffee around in his cup, then changed the joking mood before taking another sip. “I didn’t agree to be your contact with the department just because Cutler assigned me. I’ve got your big brother to answer to.”

  “Cole’s not a cop anymore.” A.J.’s gaze followed a pair of girls who walked past, his eyes convincingly glued to their curvy backsides. “You don’t know that.”

  “Cole walked away from the force two years ago. He does private security work now.”

  “If you say so.” A.J. dragged his gaze back to Josh. The detective had to be in his mid-thirties, but he blended into the scenery with these trendy young students as if he wasn’t a day over twenty-two. Josh hoped his cover was half as convincing.

  “Is there something you want to tell me?” Josh asked.

  The rest of the cappuccino disappeared in one last gulp. A.J. scrubbed the remaining foam from his lips with a paper napkin. “What Cole does now is his own business. But the man
was my partner for eight years. Since you’re looking to take his place in the drug enforcement division, it seems a natural step to start watching your back.”

  Josh bristled at A.J.’s words. “I’m not taking anybody’s place. I’m making my own.”

  A.J. nodded, showing no reaction to Josh’s declaration. “Poor choice of words. I apologize. Cutler can be a controlling SOB, but he’s fair. You clean the meth off this campus, and he’ll give you that promotion.”

  “Can I get that in writing?” Josh accepted the apology and support with a teasing smile.

  “There are no guarantees in this business.” A.J. slipped his hand inside his jacket and pulled out a piece of paper. “Here’s a number where you can reach me at any hour. The line’s secure.” After he pushed the note across the tabletop, A.J. leaned back and rolled his shoulder. His mouth tightened with a wince of pain.

  “Still stiff?” Josh knew A.J.’s wound from the Pittmon bust two months ago had done some muscle damage that would be slow to heal. The fact one of the precinct’s best undercover men was out of commission was probably one reason Josh had gotten this assignment. That, and his youthful, wrinkle-free smile.

  “A little. When the weather’s about to change, it gets worse.” He shrugged his good shoulder. “I’m not used to sitting on the sidelines.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll call you if I need some backup.”

  “You better. I don’t want to have to explain you getting hurt to anyone in your family.” A.J. pulled a stocking cap over his head and stood. “Got any personal messages you want to send out?”

  Josh considered the request. “Tell Ma hi and that I’m okay. She worries.”

  A.J. nodded. “Where does she think you’ve been these past few weeks? Lying on the beach with some sweet young thing?”

  An unexpected image of Rachel Livesay popped into his head. With those kissable lips and expressive green eyes, his psych professor was sweeter than any young thing he’d seen waltz by this table or anyplace on campus. He’d dated a lot of women in his time. But never anyone more than a couple of years older than him, and never anyone who was pregnant.