Some kind of wonderful (14 page)

"Okay, then," Carol said, smiling. "We got that shipment of candles yesterday. Would you mind setting them out on the shelves near the front window?"

"Sure." Grateful for the escape, Lacey headed for the storeroom and glanced at the baby as she passed. "She's sleeping again?"

Carol laughed and her eyes got all sparkly. "She's a champ at sleeping. At least, during the day. But then, what else would she be doing at the ripe old age of a week?"

"Six days, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Carol stopped, thought about it for a minute, then nodded. "I guess it is." She turned and smoothed one fingertip over the baby's chin. "Just six days, Liz. You're still a spring chicken, right?"

Lacey watched her boss coo and make stupid baby noises for a few minutes, and felt a little weird. She'd never seen anyone talk to a baby so much. Carol was

always joking around and having conversations with Liz like the baby understood what was going on. She told her stories or fairy tales and then would cover her ears if she didn't want Liz listening. Like the baby knew one sound from another or something. Weird.

"So, you want the candles in the window?"

Carol looked at her briefly, the smile for the baby still on her face. "Close to the window. Not in it. In the window, the sun would melt them, despite the glass tint."

"Right." Lacey started for the storeroom and stopped when Carol spoke up again.

"Lacey? You sure everything's okay at home?"

Home? A cold fist squeezed her heart and Lacey breathed slowly, deeply, to dissipate the ice. "Sure. Why wouldn't it be?"

"No reason." Carol's voice was soft, as were her eyes.

Pity was a hard thing to choke down. She should know, she'd been strangling on it since she was old enough to understand that not everyone's mom spent most of their time on the couch with a beer in her hand.

Carol meant well. Lacey figured they all meant well. But that didn't make it any easier to accept.

"I'm gonna go get the candles unpacked." Before her boss could start asking more questions Lacey didn't want to answer, she ducked into the storage room and took a breath as soon as the door closed behind her. Her gaze swept the neatly stacked boxes of new merchandise and the shelves where stock had already been unpacked and sorted. There was order here. It was soothing, she thought, to be able to step into this room and find everything the way it was the day before and the day before that. Here, things stayed where she put them and belonged where they stayed.

Unlike home.

Funny, she thought, that word should bring up different feelings. It should make her feel warm, she guessed, as she slit open the strapping tape on the box closest to the door. Peggy and Donna were always complaining about home, but they didn't really mean it, she knew. Sometimes, she was convinced they were only bitching about their moms so Lacey wouldn't feel so bad about her own. But that was dumb, since she knew Mrs. Reilly and Mrs. Flynn and neither one of them was like her mom. Not even close.

A small twist of guilt nagged at her.

Sighing, she tore the cardboard flaps open, then pulled out the Styrofoam peanuts, dropping them neatly in the trash can set aside for that purpose. As she went about the familiar task, her brain wandered.

Carol seemed happy with the baby. And she seemed like she was getting a little better at the whole "mother" thing. As that thought presented itself, Lacey wondered if that was how it was supposed to work, learning and getting better at the mom thing as you went along. And maybe if it was something you had to learn—you could forget it, too.

Her own mother wouldn't exactly get an A+ on the mom meter. Which was, she told herself firmly, the main reason she was never going to have kids.

Jack drank the coffee, forcing it down his throat. Christ, what was it about cop-house coffee? Every department seemed to be outfitted with the one coffeemaker that could turn perfectly acceptable coffee beans into a liquid more like sludge than a beverage. Hell, this stuff, after sitting on the burner for four hours, was almost thick enough to chew.

Still, he took another drink and let the caffeine hit him hard. Maybe if he could get some sleep, he wouldn't need the artificial kick in the ass. But since every time he closed his eyes, he was assaulted by either a nightmare or the torment of Carol's tempting mouth, sleep wasn't really an option.

The last few days had dragged by. He'd dodged Carol whenever he could, but it didn't matter if he could see her or not. He heard her and her damn bells. He swore he could smell her—that hint of coconut that seemed to cling to her skin. And his brain kept reminding him how she tasted, how she felt, pressed against him. Not to mention his body screaming at him with annoying regularity to give in and take what she'd offered.

So far, his brain was still one up on his body, his bruised heart, but who the hell knew how long that'd last?

He leaned back in his .desk chair—Sheriff Thompson's desk chair, he mentally corrected—and stared out the window at North Pole Avenue. Summer tourists clogged the sidewalks and the parking slots along the curbs. Sunlight baked the town under a heavy summer hand and the blue sky didn't offer a single cloud to tone it down.

Deputy Slater was out answering a call about a home run slammed through the plate-glass window at Mrs. Claus's Bookstore and Deputy Hoover was off fishing. Not a hell of a lot to take care of in Christmas.

Small-town life puttered along, pleased with itself. Merchants did business, kids hit the beach, and cops— or ex-cops—sat and wondered what the hell they were doing there.

When the phone on his desk rang, Jack snatched at it, grateful for a distraction. "Sheriff's office."

"Jack?" the voice on the other end of the line asked. 'That you?"

His features stiffened and a block of ice formed in his gut. He knew that voice well. A blast from his past. "Yeah, Lieutenant."

"I don't believe it."

Lieutenant Hal Jacobson, LAPD. Jack's superior up until two years ago, and a friend who'd tried like hell to keep him on the force. "How'd you find me?"

"I'm a detective, remember?"

"Yeah." Jack scraped one hand across his face, leaned his elbows on the desktop, and stared blankly at the wall opposite him. "What's up?"

"You mean besides me wanting you to come back to work?"

"Not gonna happen."

"I can still get you back in. With your grade and seniority. But I won't be able to offer it much longer."

"Didn't ask you to offer at all."

"You're one stubborn son of a bitch, you know that?"

"That's been said before." He squinted at the cork-board on the far wall and idly counted the colorful pushpins tacking up notices.

"No shit."

"What do you want, Hal?"

The other man sighed and Jack could see him clearly in his mind's eye. Sprawled in his chair, his habitual navy blue tie loosened at the collar of his rumpled white shirt, his black suit jacket hanging over the back of his chair. There'd be a pot of cold coffee on the corner of his desk and an empty ashtray right beside it. Hal had quit smoking four years ago, but he hung on to the ashtray to remind him, he often said," of the "good old days."

"What I want is you back at work," Hal said tightly. "Where you belong."

"Wrong question," Jack admitted, telling himself he'd opened that door. Now he could shut it. "Why are you calling?"

"The suit."

"What?"

"The lawsuit the family brought against the city? It's done. Settled."

Jack's fist tightened around the phone receiver and his gaze locked on a dark red pushpin as if holding that gaze meant his life.

"You still there?"

"Yeah." He would always still be there. In that alley. Rain pounding on him. Gunshots echoing like thunder, rolling out around him. He would forever feel the kick of his weapon in his hand. Hear the screams of pain. Smell the scent of death.

Always.

Forever.

There.

On the other end of the line, his old friend blustered, "Dammit, Jack, this was never your fault."

"Fault doesn't matter, does it?" Jack forced the words through gritted teeth. "I walked away. They didn't."

"You should be punished for living?"

Who said he was living? Oh, he'd survived. He was still breathing. Still waking up every morning to face another day. But was he alive? Not the way he had been in the hours before that last shift had ended.

So was surviving enough?

"Fine. Be a martyr." Hal's voice was resigned, disgusted. "I've got your shit all boxed up, taking up space in the locker room. You never collected it."

"Don't want it." That life was in the past. Everything

he'd left behind in his desk, the bureau, in his locker, belonged to that life and had no part in what was left of this one.

"Too goddamn bad," Hal muttered. "I'm sending it out. If you don't tell me where to send it, I'll send it to the damn sheriff's office. That address I can get on my own."

Jack closed his eyes, rubbed them with the tips of his fingers, hoping to ease the ache that had settled there. It didn't help. "No. don't send it here." All he needed was for Ken Slater or Hoover to see a package from LAPD. That would open up questions he didn't want to hear and feed the gossip chain that kept Christmas turning. He couldn't have it sent to his mother's house, because Christ knew he didn't need that kind of grief, either.

Quickly, he gave Hal Carol's address. "I should be there another few weeks, anyway."

"Fine." Hal paused. "I'll get it out today. And Jack..."

"What?"

The other man sighed, no doubt sensing that he was talking to a brick wall. "Never mind." Then he hung up.

Jack took a breath and very carefully set the receiver back in its cradle—severing his last ties with LAPD.

The Reindeer Cafe was everything it should be.

White plastic icicles hung from the edges of the roof and an enormous evergreen wreath decorated the etched-glass front door. Red ribbon encircled the white pillars lining the wide front porch, looking like giant candy canes and lacy snowflakes dotted the surfaces of the gleaming windows.

Inside, to the left of the front door, was the lobby of

the Ho-Ho-Hotel, a quiet, cozy setup, with overstuffed sofas drawn up in front of a now empty stone hearth. Brightly colored braided rugs decorated the polished oak floor and vases of red and white carnations sat atop three of the tables.

To the right of the entrance was the Reindeer Cafe. Red vinyl booths lined the wall in front of the wall of windows and small, square wooden tables filled the rest of the room. Old-fashioned chrome and red vinyl seats lined the polished wood counter, and a glass case beside the cash register displayed the cakes and cookies the restaurant was known for.

A handful of customers were sprinkled around the room, most of them senior citizens, snapping up the "early bird" dinner specials. The aromas coming from the kitchen made Carol's mouth water and she was glad that Maggie had asked to meet here, in her family's restaurant.

Mary Alice Reilly, her daughter Peggy, and two other waitresses manned the counters and tables while two cooks worked in the kitchen. Carol lifted a hand in a wave, then headed for one of the booths. As she slid across the red vinyl, she set the baby carrier on the table in front of her.

It only took a second or two for Mary Alice to come out from behind the counter and hurry over. A clean white dishtowel tossed over her left shoulder, she stopped beside Carol, laid one hand on her shoulder, and leaned in for a closer look at Liz.

"What a doll baby," she murmured.

"She really is," Carol said, her own gaze fixed on Liz's milky blue eyes. In just under a week, Liz had become . .. vital. Carol'd tried to hold back. Tried to keep an emotional distance. But it was just impossible.

Liz had sneaked into Carol's heart and now she was there to stay.

Which meant it was going to tear that heart in two when the county finally took Liz away and placed her in a permanent foster home. A small, stabbing ache poked at her, like a too sharp needle.

"I can't believe how much she's grown in just a week."

"Six days." Just six little days, Carol told herself and nothing in her life would ever be the same. Which made her wonder about why Maggie had wanted this meeting. Was the county going to take the baby today? Had a foster family already been found?

Her stomach fisted and suddenly the delicious aromas filling the restaurant weren't quite so pleasant. She swallowed hard against the slick, oily feeling in her gut and told herself that there was no point in worrying. Not until she'd seen Maggie. Heard what she had to say.

Oh, God.

Had they found the baby's mother?

No. Jack would have told her. Wouldn't he?

A headache burst into life behind her eyes and Carol reached up to rub her forehead.

"You don't mind if I hold her, do you?" Mary Alice said as she scooped the baby up in experienced hands.

"No, of course not."

"Oh, there's just something about a little one, isn't there?" she said as she slipped right into a dip-and-sway motion that had Liz cooing.

"She's amazing," Carol said softly.

Mary Alice tore her gaze from the baby and shifted it to Carol. She tilted her head to one side as if studying a particularly stubborn problem. "You're still not sleeping much, are you?"

Carol sighed. "Clearly, the cosmetics I use are overpriced."

"Nonsense." Mary Alice smiled down at the baby. "You look lovely. Its just that one mother can see the sleepiness in another."

Carol's heart skittered and her already unsteady stomach did a slow dip. "But I'm not her—"

"To all intents and purposes you are," the older woman said, cutting her off. "The woman who's up in the middle of the night mixing formula and changing diapers is the mommy."

Mommy.

Pleasure and fear tangled up inside her and did their best to keep her from breathing.

"You ought to let me keep her again," Mary Alice was saying. "Go home. Take a nap. Get some rest. Pick her up tomorrow."

Carol's gaze locked on the baby. If she was going to lose the baby, then she wanted every hour with her that she could get. "It's tempting, but—"