His Sugar Baby (34 page)

“Damn, Mike. I’m sorry.” Darryl radiated sincere sympathy. The timbre of his voice dropped. “How is your woman holding up?”

Michael didn’t immediately correct Darryl’s misassumption. “She’s a strong lady. Her daughter is her whole life. The insurance played out a long time ago so she is practically drowning under the medical bills. I…wanted to help her out.”

“So that’s why…” Darryl caught on swiftly. “And why you didn’t give Larry any real explanation. You didn’t want any talk going around that might turn out awkward for her.”

Michael nodded. Beyond his desire to make Catherine’s life easier, he had hoped that his efforts would begin to build a bridge between them. That hadn’t happened. He swallowed over the constriction in his throat. It cost him to say it, because it made it all the more real, but he forced it out. “And she’s not my woman any more. She never will be. I blew it.”

Darryl carefully looked him over. Slowly, he shook his head. He reached out to put a painful squeeze on Michael’s shoulder. His voice was laced with heavy sympathy. “Welcome back to the human race, Mike.”

Michael grimaced down at the carpet. “Thanks. It hurts like hell.” Then he looked up and, very deliberately, edged into his cold-bastard smile. “I do need a favor from you, though. I need you to watch my back this evening while I pay a visit to an office supply store.”

Darryl narrowed his eyes, staring at him for a long, long moment. “Okay, Mike. What do you want?”

In a few terse sentences, Michael explained.

* * * *

The sun was hanging just above the horizon when he stepped out of the shadows. The warmth of his breath puffed white on the cold air. “Rick Stein?”

The manager of the office supply had just finished locking up. He turned from the glass door, peering uncertainly at the stranger. The man was only a silhouette against the dying sun. He fumbled with putting his keys into his coat pocket. “Yeah, that’s me. Who’s asking?”

“Not a friend.” Michael stepped closer, emerging out of the shadows. He curled his lips into his cold-bastard’s smile. Deliberately, he raised his fists. “This is for Winter.”

The man’s eyes widened fractionally. He threw up defensive hands, backpedaling. “You’ve got the wrong guy! I don’t know any—”

Michael threw a short jab into the man’s face. He felt cartilage give under his knuckles. Rick Stein howled and doubled over, his hands flying to his face. His voice was muffled. “My nose! You’ve broken my nose!”

Michael hit him again, a hard blow to the body followed by a wicked hook to the jaw. The man’s head whipped to the side, blood spraying from his mouth. He crashed down to the hard pavement. The ex-husband lay still, his limbs flung out at awkward angles.

Michael waited for a moment, but the man didn’t get up. He felt a flicker of concern.
Shit.
He squatted down to lay two fingers against the man’s neck. There was a pulse.
Good. The asshole was breathing
.

Michael stood up. His breath came easy. “That was for Chloe, you sorry slimeball.” He stared down at the man’s supine form, feeling a distinct sense of satisfaction. It was too bad that he couldn’t expiate his own guilt so easily, he thought.

He turned, quickly walking away. The parking lot was almost deserted. A few of the overhead lights were on, making isolated pools on the black pavement. The car was parked in a darkened area not penetrated by any of the lights.

Muffled in a coat and wearing a red ski cap, Darryl leaned against the side of the sleek BMW 328I. His arms were crossed casually over his broad chest as though he wasn’t in any particular hurry. He straightened as Michael approached at a rapid pace and reached the car.

Without a word spoken, they got into the black BMW. With a deft twist, Darryl started the ignition. Before shifting into gear, he looked across the center console. “Feel better?”

“Yeah, yeah, I do.” Michael flexed his bruised fingers and shook out the hand. “Damn, that hurt like a son of a bitch.”

Darryl laughed. He shifted gears and gunned the V6 engine.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Two months later, Michael and Darryl were finalizing business plans for the week. When his cell rang, Michael glanced with irritation at the caller ID. With the divorce proceedings, he had talked to his ex-wife more in the last few weeks than he had in years.

But the call wasn’t from his ex-wife.
Winter.
His mind over-circuited, and everything was crowded out of his mind. “Hold on, Darryl. I’ve got to take this.”

Darryl nodded and returned his attention back to the figures for the bid on their newest job.

“Michael?” It was not Winter’s voice. Thick, raspy, it wasn’t a voice that Michael recognized. He felt the swift let-down. Yet the call had come in on Winter’s number. He frowned. “This is Michael. Who is this?”

“Michael, it’s Vicky Sotero. We met—”

“I remember,” he said quickly. “I don’t understand. Why are you calling me from this number?”

“It’s Cathy. I–I’m sorry.”

Michael straightened, his whole body tensing. Dread knotted his stomach. “Is she in some kind of trouble?” he asked tersely.

Darryl looked up, his expression alert. “Mike, what’s going on?”

Michael waved his friend silent. His whole concentration was riveted. “Vicky?”

“She may be dying. I shouldn’t call you. She wouldn’t want me to. But I had to let you know! She was in a c–car c–crash!”

Michael felt his body jerk as though electrocuted. The edge of the cell cut into his palm when his fingers clenched around it. “What do you mean…
dying?
” He could hear the woman’s broken sobbing, and he shouted, “Talk to me, damn it!”

Vicky poured out what she knew, obviously trying for control, but her voice shook. As Michael listened in numb horror, certain phrases resonated.
Didn’t want to see him…losing the baby…massive hemorrhage.

Michael extracted as much information out of Vicky Sotero as he could. Cathy had discovered that she was pregnant. She had declared that Michael didn’t need to know because she had broken it off. She did not want to see him again. There had been a multiple-car collision on the freeway. Vicky’s conscience had gotten the better of her. She hadn’t had his business card with her, but she had found the phone in Cathy’s purse. She was calling from the hospital.

“I’m coming to the hospital, Vicky.” Michael ended the call, clipping his words. He jerked to his feet and strode swiftly across the office. His mind was whirling. He felt almost physically ill from the fear and adrenaline that rushed through his body.

Darryl had long since set aside the papers. He stood up and followed. “What’s going on, Mike?”

Michael yanked open the office door. Over his shoulder, he said brusquely, “I’ve got to go. Catherine is in the hospital.”

Darryl immediately palmed his keys. “I’ll take you.”

“No, that’s okay.” Michael started through the door.

Darryl grabbed his arm, stopping him. “Mike, you’re not in any shape to drive. Look at yourself, man! You’re hands are shaking! I’m not going to have you wreck on the way over there.” There was a mulish set to his mouth. “I’m driving.”

Michael nodded. It wasn’t worth the time to argue. Besides, on a certain level, he was even grateful. “Okay. You drive.”

They made it to the hospital in record time, though to Michael it felt like an eon. He jumped out of the BMW, not even glancing as Darryl sped off in search of a parking spot. Michael strode into the emergency-room waiting area. He swept a searching glance around and found the woman he remembered. His brain fleetingly registered that the Thompsons were also there. But Vicky Sotero was the one he was interested in. She was the one who had called him. “Vicky!”

She was seated tensely on the edge of a chair. Her head jerked up at sound of her name. Her eyes were reddened and puffy. The black tracks of mascara had melted under her dark eyes. She leaped to her feet and surged toward him, her hands outstretched. “Michael!”

He caught her hands in a painful grip.

“Lambert? What are you doing here?”

Michael didn’t acknowledge the astonished query. All of his attention was focused on Vicky Sotero and what she could tell him. He snapped hoarsely, “Where is she, Vicky?”

The expression in Vicky’s huge eyes was tragic. “In ICU. The doctor said—”

But Michael didn’t wait to hear what else she would have said. He swept past her, making his way purposefully to the doors of the ICU.

“Michael!” Vicky hurried after him and grabbed his arm. “Cathy wouldn’t want you to do this! I just called you because—”

He turned an icy stare on her, demanding fiercely, “What did you think I would do? Did you really think that I was just going to walk away? Maybe come back to watch her buried?
I’m not going anywhere!
She wouldn’t let me be there for her and Chloe, but I will damn sure be here for her now!”

Vicky shrank back. The Thompsons appeared to be shocked to speechlessness.

A nurse tried to head Michael off. “Sir, you can’t go in there.
Sir!
”

Michael paid no attention. He shoved open the metal door to ICU and went in, the others following in his wake. By then, Darryl had hurried in, and he brought up the rear.

The physician on duty turned. A frown deepened the fatigue on his face. “This area is restricted to family only.”

“Who the hell do you think you are, Lambert, barging in?” demanded John Thompson angrily. “You haven’t got any right to be here.”

Michael ignored him and everything else. He had eyes only for the woman lying on the bed in front of him. She lay very still, her face deathly pale. Her eyes were closed. Tubes went into her nose and her arms. There was the ping of a heart monitor. She appeared very fragile, all of her fire extinguished. Her auburn curls were stark ribbons against the white pillow. Without taking his gaze from her, Michael addressed the physician. A tick was jumping in his tightly-held jaw. “Is she all right?”

“And you are?” The physician’s tone was cool.

Michael tore his gaze away and turned to the doctor. Grimly, he said, “Lambert, Michael Lambert. The father of her baby.”

“You son of a bitch!” John Thompson stepped forward, grabbing for Michael’s shoulder.

Suddenly Darryl was there, insinuating himself between the two men. His long brown fingers wrapped around John Thompson’s forearm. “That’ll be enough, my man.”

Michael shook off Thompson’s stubborn hold. He looked into the man’s angry blue eyes and said swiftly, “We broke up. I didn’t know she was pregnant until Vicky called me. I came as soon as I heard.”

“Is this true, Vicky?” Pam pinned an accusing glare on the woman. “You called him? You know that Cathy didn’t want to see him again!”

“He had a right to know!” Vicky was defiant, but she was biting her lip.

“It wasn’t your decision to make!”

“She’s dying!” Vicky jammed a fist against her mouth. Fresh tears streamed down her face.

Michael couldn’t take any more. His voice cracked like a whip. “
Is she going to live?
”

The physician looked narrowly at him. At whatever he saw, he gave a sharp nod. “Ms. Somerset suffered internal injuries, Mr. Lambert. She hemorrhaged heavily and had internal bleeding. We weren’t able to save the fetus. We just brought her out of surgery.”

“And?” Michael could feel himself quivering. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. He felt like he was going to explode or be sick or both. A sense of helplessness pervaded him.

“As I have already related to Ms. Somerset’s family, I will not hide from you my grave concerns about the blood loss. Ms. Somerset required massive transfusions. She has a rare blood type, a rare negative, and we have exhausted our on-hand supply. We have ordered more to be flown in. If it arrives in time…”

Michael felt himself steadying. He nodded, his gaze once more fastening on her waxen face. He undid the cuff at his wrist and jerkily started to roll up his shirt sleeve. “I’ll give her the time she needs. I’m O negative.”

“A universal donor.” The physician’s eyes crinkled with his slight smile. “Your timing could not be better.”

Michael looked back to the physician. “Drain me. I’ll sign any paperwork you want.”

The physician gave an abrupt nod. He barked orders to the hovering staff. “Another bed, people. Prep the man. I want the consent forms stat! Let’s move it! And get these other people out of here!”

A nurse urged the others out of the ICU. Darryl hung back for a moment to clap a hand against Michael’s shoulder. “Good luck!”

Michael gave a nod, glancing up only briefly as his friend left the ICU.

* * * *

After she was stabilized, Cathy was moved to a private room. She wakened, groggy and disoriented. She became aware of small sounds, familiar sounds, and low voices.
The hospital.
She forced up her heavy eyelids. Bright light seared her eyes then her sight steadied. Her sister’s anxious face hovered over her, and over Pam’s shoulder, she saw her brother-in-law’s wearied features. She wet her dry lips. “Hi.” She could barely hear herself, but she saw the change in Pam’s expression.