Authors: Louise Hendricksen
That evening, at eight o'clock the bedside phone rang. Amy sighed,
rolled over, and lifted the receiver. “This is Dr. Prescott."
“Hi, Nathan here. Am I interrupting anything?"
Her heartbeat quickened at the sound of his voice. She'd been thinking about him ever
since lunch that afternoon. “No, I just crawled into bed."
“Bed!” His voice rose. “Are you sick?"
“Just tired."
“I knew it."
She forced down a surge of panic. “Knew what?"
“You haven't been well, have you?"
His statement didn't surprise her. In his early boyhood, Nathan had been taught by his
grandfather to use all of his five senses. Now, they were finely honed. He could read
people well.
“You needn't worry about me, Nathan."
He let out a long breath. “I saved your life once. We're spirit bonded.” He sighed again.
“What kind of a case are you working on? It must be a difficult one."
“It is. Dr. Cam Nguyen, a friend I interned with, has been accused of murdering his
wife."
“Did he do it?"
“No, but so far everything seems to suggest the opposite. And his alibi has completely
fallen through."
“Whoa, hold it a second,” Nathan said. Amy heard a couple of thumps and a rustle of
fabric through the phone line, followed by a soft chuckle. “All settled in. Start at the
beginning. I want to hear everything."
During her detailed account of the murder and investigation, Nathan stopped her
occasionally to ask a question. When she finished, he inhaled deeply, then laughed. “I
never thought I would get the itch again,” he said. “But I sure would like to be working
on this with you."
“Well, it's a tough one, all right. We can't make any progress until I find someone in
Wheeler's Southeast Asian community who'll talk to me."
“Hey, I have an idea. Will you be in your office around ten tomorrow morning?"
“Yes,” Amy said after a brief hesitation.
“Good. I'll meet you there, okay? See you then."
“Wait,” Any said, then realized he'd hung up.
Damn!
She dropped the receiver back
in the cradle and flopped back on the pillow. How could he possibly meet her at the
office? He didn't even have the address.
Suddenly, excitement swept aside her momentary gloom. Nathan knew everything about her,
her age, her birthday, even the fact that she had once been married for four years. And
what he didn't know he had ways and means to find out. Last October, before they'd even
met, someone in the government had provided him with a complete file on her.
The next morning, Amy tossed outfit after outfit onto her bed. She tried
on every item before she chose green slacks and a matching jacket that went well with
her brown hair and eyes. Even more important, the jacket's padded shoulders and bulky
weave adequately camouflaged her condition.
Her head cocked to one side, she studied herself in the full-length mirror and spread her
fingers over her slight tummy bulge. When she'd last seen Nathan, her five-foot-seven
frame had been lean as a greyhound. No wonder he'd commented on her increased weight She
could only hope he didn't guess at the reason for it.
After eating breakfast, she took the elevator downstairs to the first floor. When she and
her father had bought the old nautical supply warehouse, they hired a crew to gut the
interior and do extensive remodeling.
On the first floor, they set up their forensic investigative business with separate rooms
for office, client conferences, and laboratory.
The second floor contained her father's one-bedroom apartment, her three-bedroom
apartment, and one they eventually planned to rent out. The vacant third floor they used
for storage. In a few years, Amy visualized it as being an ideal play area for her
children.
A frown furrowed her forehead. Last night, she'd been too exhausted to go through the
hassle of breaking the news about the twins to her father. He hadn't made a secret about
his opposition to the pregnancy, and had even counseled her early on about having an
abortion. The thought of ridding herself of Nathan's children made her shudder. The
lives growing inside of her were the only thing that made her separation from Nathan
bearable.
She plodded into the office. Because of the important evidence they kept on the premises,
the laboratory entrance had a set of metal doors, one inside the other, both with
numerical key-pad locks.
Punching in the code, she opened the door, took several steps, fingered the next
combination, slipped inside, and adjusted her eyes to the bright fluorescent fixtures
lighting the white-walled room. Around the area's outer perimeter ranged various
machines used in analyzing physical evidence.
At a green Formica-covered counter, her father sat hunched over a polarized-light
microscope, just one of the half-a-dozen types strung out on either side of him.
“Good morning, Dad."
He swung around, regarded her closely, and ran a hand over his bald pate. “Morning,
kitten. How're you feeling?"
“Okay, I guess. Saw the specialist yesterday."
“Find out why your nausea has lasted so long?"
Amy jacked up her courage and plunged in. “He says it's not unusual for someone who's
going to have twins."
His eyes widened. “Twins! Good God, Amy, have you taken leave of your senses? One baby is
ridiculous. Two is impossible."
She braced her hands on her hips. “These are my babies.” She thumped her chest. “Mine.
I'll never abort them. Either accept that, or I'll move out so you won't be reminded of
my loose morals."
B.J.'s eyes shot blue flame. “Dammit, Amy, get your head out of the clouds. How the hell
will you be able to find a husband if you've got two kids?"
Amy raised her chin and met his fiery gaze. “I don't want a husband, Dad. I love
Nathan."
He scrubbed his hand over his face. “With two kids as a daily reminder, you're not apt to
forget him either."
“I don't want to forget him."
“Obviously.” He sighed wearily. “I've been down that road. For your information, it's not
a stroll in the park!"
Amy pressed her hand against her churning stomach. “I don't think you did too bad."
He drew his heavy brows together in a scowl. “Dammit, I just want you to have a normal
life,” he muttered. “Is anything wrong with that?"
“No, Dad. It just isn't going to be that way."
“So I see.” He bent over the microscope again. “I'd like to tell that damn dream man of
yours just what I think of him."
Amy let out her breath slow and easy. “You just might get that opportunity. Yesterday I
had lunch with Nathan at the Maxfield Hotel."
B.J. spun around. “You what?"
“He was there attending a resort owner's conference."
B.J. thinned his lips to a hard line. “And you just
happened
to run into each
other."
“We didn't plan it, Dad."
“So how's his marriage between friends going?"
“I have no idea.” Amy jammed her hands into her jacket pockets. “Oh, and by the way,
he'll be here this morning."
“Christ, what next.” B.J.'s penetrating stare pinned her in place. “Are you going to tell
him?"
Her expression grew hard. “No, and neither are you. If I know Nathan, he's only coming
because he thinks he can help us out on the Nguyen case."
“Great pretext,” B.J. barked. He slid off his stool and took hold of her shoulders. “Amy,
if you're determined to have his children, he deserves to know."
She wrenched herself out of his grasp. “Why? He doesn't want two more half-breed
Blackthorns any more than you do."
“Whoa, girl.” B.J. leveled a finger at her. “Their race isn't an issue here. Children
need a mother and a father. And you damn well know it."
“We'll manage.” She headed for the front office. “I'll let you know when Nathan arrives.
And Dad,” she turned and regarded him with a stern expression, “Behave."
The stack of paperwork had diminished by only a few sheets when the foyer door slammed
and Nathan opened the office door. “Hi,” he said as he ambled over to her desk.
She pressed her back against the chair and tried to appear casual. “You're out and about
early."
A self-conscious grin lifted one corner of his mouth. “I know, I know. I couldn't wait to
see ... to get here."
Amy regarded him as if she'd never seen him before. Marriage had changed him. The Nathan
she knew had kept his emotions hidden. Now there was a definite gleam of anticipation in
his eyes. Was he here because ... her world shifted on its axis and she curbed the
thought. She had to guard against foolish hopes.
She lifted the phone receiver with an unsteady hand. “My father's in the lab. He'll want
to hear your ideas about the case. That
is
why you're here, right?"
“Oh ... of course,” he said, slumping into an arm chair. “I forgot about your
father."
“Dad, can you come out here please?” she said into the receiver, set it back in place,
and studied Nathan again.
He wore a white shirt, brown twill pants, and a brown leather jacket. His hair was
several inches shorter than it had been the day before. “You got your hair cut,” she
said.
“It was time.” He rested his ankle on his knee and centered his gaze on the heel of his
western-style boot. “Wearing my hair that way was childish, anyhow."
“Oh, why do you say that?"
He turned his hand palm-up. “Daring people to question my Native American heritage.” A
muscle worked along his jaw. “I should have forgotten the half-breed taunts long
ago."
“Wounds sometimes take a long time to heal."
The inner metal door of the lab klunked shut and moments later Amy's father strode into
the office. His battle-ready countenance at the sight of Nathan propelled her across the
room. She touched his rigid shoulder. “Dad, I'd like you to meet Nathan Blackthorn,” she
said as she led him over to where Nathan stood. “Nathan, this is my father, B.J.
Prescott."
Nathan put out his hand. “I've heard a lot about you, Doctor."
“Oh?” B.J. ignored Nathan's proffered hand. “Like what?"
Amy winced. She should have known this was a bad idea.
Under B.J.'s cold scrutiny, Nathan's face tightened. “I keep up with what's going on in
the investigative business. Habit, I guess.” He shifted his attention to Amy for an
instant and raised an eyebrow.
She returned his gaze with reassurance in her eyes.
“Well?” B.J. snapped and folded his arms. “Amy tells me you've come about the Nguyen
case."
Nathan stared down at the older man for a full beat before he spoke. “I spent six months
in Cambodia. Two with the hill tribes on the Thai border, two with the Hinayana Buddhist
monks, and another two wandering the country."
She eyed her father. He knew how volatile the situation in Cambodia had been. Many of
them hated the Americans for backing Pol Pot.
B.J. blinked owlishly but maintained his belligerent stance. “Doing what?"
“Gathering classified information. I speak Khmer, French, and Vietnamese. I might be able
to reach people you and Amy cannot."
Amy caught her breath. In the last three minutes, she'd learned more about Nathan's role
in the Special Forces than he'd told her in the weeks they had worked together. But she
had no time to think of that now. Her father's expression was unreadable.
She stretched her mouth into a smile. “We really appreciate your coming, Nathan.” She
gestured toward an open doorway behind her. “Let's go into the conference room."
Hooking her arm through B.J.'s, she motioned for Nathan to precede them. “Stop it,” she
said to her father under her breath.
“I'll do as I damn please,” he muttered. “This is my business too."
She glared at him. “If you continue to be so rude, you'll be running it by yourself.”
When the two men seated themselves in the conference room, Amy set two mugs from a side
counter on the table.
“I'll get some coffee,” she said, giving Nathan a reassuring glance. When she turned
toward their small kitchen, he pushed back his chair and followed her.
“Let me help,” he said.
“Well ... if you insist.” In the alcove, she switched on the toaster oven to warm some
oat bran muffins she'd baked earlier. “Sorry about Dad,” she said in a low voice. “He
has an attitude problem this morning."
“I deserve it, and more ... much more."
Amy took a black lacquer tray from a slot beneath the birch cabinets and placed it on the
counter. “You don't, Nathan. You were honest with me. You told me you were engaged."
“No!” Nathan leaned down until his eyes were on a level with hers and touched his
fingertip to her lips. “No, Amy. Not soon enough. We both know that. I should have
stayed away from you."
She picked up a sponge and wiped the already spotless counter. “I'm glad you didn't,” she
said softly.
The air whistled out of Nathan's lungs as a bleak cast spread over his features.
“Amy..."
The toaster bell dinged, breaking the intimate mood. “You still take your coffee black?”
she asked.
At his nod, she took a ceramic bowl containing packets of sugar and cream substitute from
the cupboard and smiled at him with her eyes. “I'm trying to keep Dad's weight and
cholesterol down.” She set out silverware and dessert plates, located a tub of margarine
in the counter top refrigerator, and slid the muffins out of the toaster oven.
Nathan inhaled their aroma and the corners of his mouth twitched. “Cholesterol and
calorie-free?"
She grinned back. “Near as I could make them. If you'll carry the tray, we'll rejoin the
fire-eating dragon."
In the birch-paneled conference room, B.J. sat at the head of the square table, writing
progress notes in a manila folder. To her relief, he had distributed pencils and scratch
pads. He had even made a copy of their current investigative report for Nathan.