Best for the Baby (2 page)

Something dripped against the tiny flame, causing it to sputter. Not wax, she realized with a frown.

Blood.

She turned her hand and saw the neat cut along the side of her wrist. She must have sliced it on a piece of glass when she’d stuck her hand inside the broken window. She’d been so chilled she hadn’t even felt it.

Blood welled and continued to drip on the table, and after that first, stunned moment, Alaina jumped up to grab a kitchen towel. She twisted it around her wrist, which she pulled against her breast, then sat down again.

She was light-headed, and more tired than she’d felt in days. Making sure to maintain pressure on her wrist, Alaina dropped her head into her hands. She closed her eyes and tried to draw deep breaths. No need to panic. She was safe.

In a few moments she would locate a blanket. There probably wouldn’t be anything in the fridge, but she’d noticed cans of food in the pantry. She could sack out on the living-room couch tonight, then walk into Lake Harmony tomorrow and find a bank. Everything would be all right.

Waiting for her breathing to settle, she listened to the
storm shake the windows. The wind whipped under the eaves, and she had to smile at the sound.

The first summer she and Maggie had been invited here, a storm had blown up in the middle of the night. Maggie had told her that the moaning sounds they heard were ghosts trying to break in to steal their souls.

Alaina, who had been a bona fide scaredy-cat most of her life, had charged out of the bedroom and straight into the shadowy solidness of Zack Davidson. He’d laughed to hear her reason for running around the cottage in the middle of the night. Didn’t she know by now that Maggie—with that benign form of torture all sisters loved—was just trying to scare her?

Then he’d taken her outside to the porch, where he’d explained in a very complicated, very sensible guylike way just how old wood reacted against the wind. They’d ended up sitting in the rockers, sharing the baloney sandwich he’d made, and watching lightning strobe the sky. Every time it did, every time the thunder boomed, Zack had squeezed her fingers, just to show her there was nothing to fear.

They’d both been nine that first summer, and long before the end of it, Alaina was half in love with Zack, though she’d previously thought boys were a complete waste of skin.

Now she crossed her arms and let her head drop onto them. It felt so good to rest, to just let the good memories of this place wash through her. Over the years, she’d fallen head over heels in love with Zack, and with the exception of one foolish argument that should never have happened, not a single day of the time she’d spent here had been anything but pure magic.

It was only later, when lazy summer vacations were behind them and real life in Miami had intruded, that Alaina and Zack’s relationship had run aground. When decisions were made that could not be reversed, when everything had gone horribly wrong.

Alaina groaned, refusing to think right now of those lost years without Zack in her life. No. She would rest. Just rest…

She must have dozed, because the next thing she was aware of was light. Blinding light. Shining into her eyes. She lifted her uninjured hand as a shield. Behind the beam of brightness there was movement, the silhouette of a man.

She was no longer alone in the kitchen.

Her heart raced. “Zack?” she said, still too groggy to think straight.

The light disappeared momentarily, and Alaina blinked. She realized that the man holding the flashlight wasn’t Zack at all. He was too thin, and he wore some sort of uniform. She saw the flash of a badge on his jacket. A policeman? Then her heart went into overdrive because she realized that he held a gun.

Pointed right at
her.

F
ROM THE GAZEBO
that sat in the center of the Pinar del Lago footbridge, Zack Davidson stared down into the midnight-dark waters of the lake. The night was eerily shrouded in fog, leaving the moon barely visible. But the gurgle of waves gently lapping against the pilings below was enough to make him smile.

He knew that sound. How many times had he and Alaina stretched out side by side at this very spot, two silly teenagers, and listened to the night settle around them?

The Pinar del Lago bridge was nothing but a span of wood and concrete that linked one side of the Miramar subdivision to the other. It went nowhere interesting, had no architectural marvels to recommend it and was now in sad disrepair.

All that didn’t matter to Zack. He loved this bridge. Which was why, in spite of the fact that his parents had moved out of the neighborhood years ago, and in spite of the work waiting for him in his office, he hadn’t been able to say no to the homeowners’ association when they’d asked him to help bring it back from extinction.

Stupidly sentimental, perhaps. But in spite of his father’s claim that he’d sold out his talent for the almighty dollar, this business decision didn’t have
anything to do with money. The bridge represented a touchstone from his teenage years that he wasn’t willing to let slip away. Not just yet.

Tonight he hadn’t been able to explain that to Damaris. His girlfriend was a beautiful woman of Cuban ancestry who owned a string of nail salons in greater Miami. On the way home from dinner, she had actually accused him of being unfocused, unmotivated and poorly prepared to boost his career goals to the next level.

It had annoyed the hell out of him.

Especially the part about being unmotivated. That was rich. He could admit to himself that, for a long time, he’d been perfectly happy working for Maggie Tillman’s aquarium design firm. His innovative, functional cabinetry had been instrumental in the success of her business.

But eventually, it hadn’t been enough for him. And since going into business for himself two years ago, he’d established Dynamic Designs as one of Dade County’s top names in custom woodwork. He was on target to open up a fourth store by the first of next year. Perhaps not ambitious enough for a go-getter like Damaris, but the pace pleased Zack, whose opinion was the only one that should matter.

The fact that she thought she’d earned the right to tell him how to run his business irritated him even more, and he’d driven out here to cool off.

Now he had the vague, unhappy feeling that before he returned to his condo, he’d finally do what had been kicking around in the back of his mind for weeks. He’d swing by Damaris’s place. It was time to break off their relationship.

He was so wrong for her. She needed someone
more attentive. Someone who liked to be coddled. And definitely someone who worshipped money as much as she did.

He ran his fingers along the bridge’s handrail, then down one of the badly rotted support posts. In his mind he began to work through the possibilities for this project. Maybe he’d suggest a nice mahogany-stained oak with coated metal balusters. It would be a more expensive way to go, but it would definitely outlast wood. Maybe he could cut some kind of deal with his suppliers for the supports.

He thought about the men in his employ, which ones could give him the best results for this type of work. Eddie, definitely. And maybe Arturo? He had a good eye. Maybe, if nothing else got in the way, Zack could work the project himself. It had been a long time since he’d felt the warmth of fine wood under his fingertips. He missed it.

Though it pained him to admit it, Damaris might be right, after all. In his heart, he’d always be a craftsman first and a businessman second. No matter what his father had thought.

The creak of wood caught his attention, and Zack looked up to find Damaris coming down the dock, moving out of the fog like a pretty ghost. Her hair flowed around her face like a dark, wispy veil. She wore her overcoat, though in October, South Florida nights were still far from chilly.

Although surprised to see her, and ready to end their relationship, Zack felt his gut react. She might be presumptuous, but she was still a damned beautiful woman.

“I thought this is where I’d find you.” Her voice drifted softly toward him.

“What are you doing here, Damaris?”

She smiled, as though they hadn’t exchanged harsh words only an hour ago. “I don’t like to fight. It upsets me.” She reached him, tilting her head up to meet his eyes. “I forgive you. Now come back to my place and let’s do something more…enjoyable.”

He caught her hand as she began to play with the buttons of his shirt. “You forgive
me?
” he said, amused in spite of his annoyance. The woman had a way of reinventing history. Really, he was almost going to miss her resourcefulness.
Almost.
“What makes you think I’m the one who needs forgiving?”

“Because this bridge project is foolish, and I know you’ll see that eventually. Helping to rebuild it will bring you nothing. No money. No publicity. It’s unworthy of your talent and a waste of your time.”

“Not to me, it isn’t.” He shook his head at her. “You’re the one wasting your time. My mind’s made up.”

“I didn’t come out here to continue our argument. I came to show you what you’re missing if you persist in being disagreeable tonight.”

Might as well get this over with,
Zack thought. “I think we need to talk—”

“No,” she interrupted with a pretty pout. “No more talk.”

She stepped back. In a single, quick movement she pulled the edges of her overcoat away until the garment fell silently at her feet. Zack blinked in astonishment. With the exception of the diamond studs in her ears and the stiletto heels she loved to wear, Damaris was completely naked.

“What the hell…”

He’d seen her in the buff plenty of times. She was passionate, with a flair for the dramatic, but he’d never watched her strip naked in the moonlight. In public.

The next moment she surprised him even more. She slipped over the bridge’s handrail and dived into the lake like an Olympian. He reached the side as she bobbed to the surface, smiling up at him. Zack remembered that the lake was its deepest here at the gazebo, but the water was still very clear. He watched the pale blur of her legs scissor-kick to keep her body afloat, and her breasts were plainly visible.

He glanced around. The lake was large enough that it was unlikely anyone in the houses that rimmed it would have heard the splash and come to investigate. Still…

“Are you nuts?” he called down to her softly. “Come out of there.”

“Why don’t you come to me? Your old boss says your hands have magic in them. Show me.”

Two nights ago they’d had dinner with Maggie Stewart and her husband, Will. Damaris knew perfectly well that when Maggie had said Zack’s hands held magic, she’d meant his ability to work with wood. “Damaris…”

She grinned mischievously. “The water is cold. Come warm me up,
mi vida.
” She brought one hand to her breast, stroking herself, deliberately teasing.

Breaking up with her tonight wouldn’t be pleasant. She’d be embarrassed and furious, and she could be a fiery little witch when she felt thwarted. But he had to do it.

He watched her flip on her side and bring one leg up in an acrobatic turn. Damn, she was such a beauty.

At that moment, it was glaringly apparent to Zack that any other red-blooded male would have jumped in
and joined her. Why the hell was he acting like a shrinking violet over a little skinny-dipping fun? He ought to be stripping off his clothes this very minute.

But the truth was, Damaris was not, and never would be, the woman he wanted to play this sexy, dangerous game with.

He thought about all the times he and Alaina had made out here in the gazebo as teenagers, all his sweaty, hormone-infused efforts to get to second base with her. What he wouldn’t have given to find Alaina, naked and hungry, beckoning him into the lake.

But Alaina, damn her uptight, good-girl upbringing, had never been willing to risk discovery. Not even for a guy she’d supposedly been in love with.

He realized in that instant that his cell phone was vibrating. Scowling, he jerked it off his belt. He didn’t recognize the number on the display. Definitely not local.

“Yeah, this is Zack,” he said absently as he glanced down at Damaris. She was scowling, too.

“Is this Zachary Davidson who owns Heron Cove cottage in Lake Harmony, Georgia?”

The male voice sounded familiar, but Zack couldn’t place it. No mistaking the authoritative tone, though. “Yes. What about it?”

“Well, hello there, Zack.” The caller’s voice turned friendly, but there was something about it that made him feel as though he’d just swallowed a mouthful of motor oil. “You might not remember me. This is your old buddy Whit Russell.”

Old buddy? Whit Russell?
Old Nit Whit?
Zack remembered him, all right. But not in a good way. Whit had been a full-time resident of Lake Harmony, and
every time Zack had spent the summer there as a kid, he and Whit had managed to butt heads.

When he remained silent, Whit went on. “Actually, it’s
Deputy
Russell now.”

Zack frowned into the phone. The sheriff, an honorable, easygoing man named Pete Moran, had been friends with Zack’s late father. “What’s happened to Sheriff Moran?”

“He’s still here. Off on vacation for a couple of weeks. I’m in charge of keeping the peace while he’s gone.”

“Congratulations,” Zack said, barely managing to keep sarcasm out of his voice. Whit might be better looking than Barney Fife, but he had that officious, superior attitude down pat. A first-class jerk if ever there was one.

Zack cut a glance down at the water below. Damaris was floating on her back now, exposing herself as a way of enticing him to cut the phone call short. Truthfully, it didn’t require much encouragement. The last person he wanted to talk to was an old childhood pain-in-the-ass like Whit Russell.

He covered the phone’s receiver with his hand. “Come out of there, damn it,” he whispered harshly. “Do you want to be gator bait?”

Damaris just continued to smile.

Zack lifted the phone back to his lips.

“I’m afraid I can’t talk right at the moment,” he told Russell. “Maybe—”

“Oh, this isn’t a social call. I guess there’s no sense pretending we were ever friends. Right?”

“No, I suppose not,” Zack agreed.

In fact, the last time he’d seen Whit, the teenager had been sporting a busted lip and black eye that Zack had
given him. The son of a bitch had dared to touch Alaina, tried to seduce her in one of the lake’s boathouses while the Fourth of July fireworks blossomed overhead. Whit deserved the nickname he’d been cursed with. He
was
an idiot. Why Zack should be wasting time talking to him…

“I’m sort of tied up right now, Deputy,” Zack told him. “Can we move this along?”

He should have known Whit wouldn’t like losing control of the call. If he was in charge up in Lake Harmony while Sheriff Moran was out of town, he’d want to savor every moment of power.

Sure enough, when Whit spoke, his tone was brisk and authoritative again. “I’m calling to inform you that your place got broken into tonight.”

That surprised Zack. Lake Harmony had always been a little pocket of sanity in a crazy world. Peaceful. Quaint. Even though he hadn’t been back for a visit in several years, not even to clean out the place after his father’s death, Zack still fondly remembered the cottage on Lake Harmony. Crime had been nonexistent in the town.

“Someone broke into the cottage?” he repeated, trying to absorb that fact and keep an eye on Damaris at the same time.

“Don’t worry,” Whit said. “I was able to catch the perp before any harm was done.”

The perp.
Oh yeah, Zack thought. Deputy Do-Right had probably put the fear of God into the poor schmuck.

“Who was it?” Zack asked. “Kids?”

“Not exactly.” The greasy pleasure in Nit Whit Russell’s voice made the hair on the back of Zack’s neck stand on end. “In fact, you’ll never guess who I caught red-handed, and who’s now locked up in my jail.”

Zack wasn’t in the mood for games. “Enlighten me,” he said in a clipped tone. Tucking the cell phone against his shoulder, he scooped up the overcoat Damaris had draped over the railing, and waved it at her, another invitation to come out. She shook her head and splashed water in his direction.

“Miss Priss,” Whit Russell said.

“Who?”

“Your old girlfriend.” When Zack didn’t respond right away, Whit explained, “Alaina Tillman. With all the mooning you did over her in the old days, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten her?”

Zack repositioned the phone against his ear. He couldn’t be hearing right. “Alaina,” he repeated with a snort of disbelief. “You’ve got Alaina Tillman sitting in your jail.”

“Yes, siree. Though she hasn’t been sitting much. Mostly she’s making a ruckus, trying to get me to let her go.” The deputy emitted a harsh laugh. “As if that’s going to happen anytime soon.”

This had to be some sort of joke. Two nights ago he’d heard from Maggie that her sister, Alaina, was busy playing house with a wild-eyed environmentalist intent on saving some Texas river. Still hoping to figure out what she wanted out of life, he supposed. Still worrying the hell out of her family, too, because except for receiving an occasional postcard to let them know she was all right, no one heard much from her.

But while such unorthodox behavior wasn’t at all like the old cautious Alaina he’d grown up with, there was no way in hell she’d end up in some jail. Not even in a backwater town lockup like Lake Harmony’s.

Damaris caught his attention by splashing more water at him. He turned his back, speaking low into the phone. “What’s the deal, Russell? What’s going on up there?”

“Told you. She busted into your place. There’s glass everywhere.”

Russell’s words made Zack draw in a sharp breath. This was surreal. A beautiful naked woman swimming right below him. Alaina in jail. “Is she all right?”