In Blackhawk's Bed. Barbara McCauleyЧитать онлайн книгу.
for Lizzie, somewhere back east, or in the south.
Can he come to Wolf River? the lawyer had asked.
Could he come?
Hell, yes, he’d come, Seth had told the lawyer.
His heart racing, his hand shaking, Seth had hung up the phone, still sat there staring at the receiver for a full fifteen minutes. After that, he’d slept for the next sixteen hours straight.
The fact that he’d been suspended from the force for six weeks had made it easy to throw a few clothes and necessities into a bag and head out. It wasn’t as if he had anything to keep him in Albuquerque. No wife. No kids. No commitments.
Which was exactly the way he’d wanted it. He’d tried living with Julie, his last girlfriend, but the life of an undercover cop was hardly what anyone would consider a stable relationship. He never knew when he’d be home, or even if he’d be home. He’d warned Julie about his lifestyle, but she’d sworn she understood and could adjust to his erratic schedules.
So she’d cheerfully moved in, adding those little feminine touches around the apartment: sunflower coasters, a hand-knitted throw on the sofa, scented candles in the bathroom. Framed photos of the two of them everywhere.
But after six months, with more than half that time spent alone, Julie’s understanding had been stretched like a rubber band. When she finally snapped, she’d moved out in a dramatic display—a ritualistic burning of every photo of the two of them together, the pictures all tossed into a metal trash can that she’d placed in the middle of his living room. For good measure she’d thrown in the knitted throw, too, which had created so much smoke the fire department had shown up, along with a patrol car.
For weeks after that, he’d been the brunt of countless jokes at the station. A key chain fire extinguisher, smoke detectors, a fireman’s hat.
No more live-ins, he’d firmly decided after all that. He didn’t want that kind of complication in his life, and he wasn’t so foolish as not to know that once a woman invaded a man’s space, she immediately started thinking rings and weddings and babies. All those things were fine for a nine-to-five kind of guy, but he simply didn’t fit that profile.
He’d seen the agony on his adopted mother’s face the night his father’s best friends from the force had knocked on the front door, their faces solemn and heads bowed. Al Mott and Bob Davis had been Uncle Al and Uncle Bob to Seth for the past ten years. After the funeral, they’d both told Seth not to join the department. Go to college and be an accountant or an architect, they’d said. Seth’s mother cried the day he’d joined the Albuquerque Police Department, but she’d hugged him and given her blessing.
That had been ten years ago. Two years as a rookie, then straight to undercover. There were days, too many of late, that Seth thought Al and Bob had been right. Pushing a pencil and sitting in a cushy office chair was sounding more appealing all the time.
Especially after this last job, he thought with a sigh.
When the gas pump clicked off, Seth topped the Harley’s tank with another shot from the nozzle, tugged his helmet back on, then climbed back on his motorcycle. At the pump on the other side of the island, a gray-haired woman filling her white Taurus with gas stared at him. Seth slipped his sunglasses down and winked at her. Appalled, the woman quickly turned away.
Smiling to himself, Seth roared out of the gas station, knowing full well that every eye in the place was watching him leave.
He’d be out of this town and back on the road within the hour, he told himself. If he was lucky, sooner.
Tall elm trees and old Victorian homes lined the main road into town. Several of the houses had business signs out front: an antique shop, a law office, a doctor. On the lower left corner of every sign was the painted picture of a fruitcake. Seth shook his head at the absurdity of it, thankful he didn’t live here. He couldn’t imagine telling people he was from the land of giant fruitcakes.
Correction, fruit cake.
He was nearly at the end of the shady street when he spotted a child inside the white picket fence surrounding the large front yard of one of the homes. The child, a little girl with shiny blond curls, stood under an elm tree, waving her arms frantically. Seth slowed his motorcycle, then felt his heart stop at the sight of another little girl in the tree, dangling in midair ten feet off the ground, her bright blue pants obviously caught on the branch. A look of sheer terror on her face, the child’s eyes were squeezed tightly closed.
There were times when a person didn’t think, they simply acted.
Seth jumped the curb and crashed through the picket fence. His bike went down on the wet grass as he leapt off, yanking his helmet off as he rushed the tree, then scrambled up the main trunk to the branch where the little girl still held on.
“Hang on, honey,” Seth yelled to the youngster.
Eyes wide, the child turned her head toward him as he climbed out on the tree branch. The little girl dropped down another three inches as her pants ripped.
Dammit, dammit, dammit!
“Be still,” Seth told the child. “Don’t even breathe.”
The child obeyed, but kept her eyes on him as he made his way across the branch.
“Maddie!”
Seth ignored the sound of a woman’s scream from the ground below. Inching his way out toward the child, he reached down and grabbed her by her waist.
“I’ve got you,” Seth reassured the child as he yanked her up. The woman who’d screamed, a blonde with a mass of wild curls on top of her head, stood in the V of the tree trunk, her arms outstretched as she reached for the child. Seth sat on the branch, then handed the little girl over to the woman.
“Mommy!” the child threw her arms around her mother’s neck.
Seth let loose the breath he’d been holding. That had been close, he thought with a sigh of relief. Too close. That little girl could have been seriously—
The branch underneath him cracked loudly.
Uh-oh.
Seth did his best to scramble backward, but the branch cracked again and went down, taking him along. The ground rushed up to meet him and everything went black.
Hannah Michaels watched in horror as the man and the tree branch crashed and fell to the ground. With Maddie still clutching her neck, Hannah slid down the tree trunk and rushed to kneel beside the unconscious man. He lay on his back, absolutely still, his long legs sprawled, his arms spread wide. She wasn’t even certain he was breathing.
Oh dear Lord, Hannah thought frantically. They’d killed him.
She pressed a hand to his chest, felt the heavy thud of his heart. A wave of relief washed over her. Thank God. She closed her eyes and sucked in a breath. He was alive.
“Madeline Nicole,” Hannah said sternly as she unwrapped her daughter’s arms from her neck. “You stand beside your sister and don’t move one inch. Do you understand me?”
Lip quivering, Maddie joined Missy, who stood several feet away, her eyes wide and fearful. The twins clasped hands and leaned into each other.
“Hannah Michaels, what in tarnation is going on over there?” Mrs. Peterson, Hannah’s next-door neighbor called out from her front porch. “Is that a motorcycle on your front lawn?”
“Could you please call Dr. Lansky over here?” Hannah said over her shoulder. “Tell him it’s an emergency.”
“An emergency?” Mrs. Peterson craned her neck. “What kind of emergency?”
“Please, Mrs. Peterson,” Hannah said more firmly. “Someone’s been hurt.”
“Hurt? Dear me, I better call right away then. Though it is Tuesday. He might be at the clinic, or he might have taken that grandson of his fishing over at Brightman