In The Arms of a Stranger (10 page)

She shook her head. “To any sane person, yes. But not Gonzalez. What I didn't know was that DCFS had located him in the meantime and had arranged for the final paperwork. He had agreed to sign Michael over to the state.” A sob caught in her throat. “I was that close to getting Michael away from him, and I blew it.”

“You wanted to adopt him?”

“Yes.” Dana lowered her head to her knees. “God, yes. But my husband refused. Robert wanted a child that was biologically his. And he was afraid. Michael's mother died of hepatitis C. If I only had it to do over again…” Sobs shook her body. “I was a fool to give in to him.”

“No, Dana, he was the fool.”

She looked up, a look of gratitude on her face. “I did what I thought was the next best thing—I became certified
as a foster parent.” She smiled. “Robert never even knew what I was doing.”

“But you didn't get the chance?”

“No. I didn't.” Tears threatened. “I was so close to getting foster custody of Michael.”

“I don't understand why Gonzalez would want to back out of the deal.”

Dana met Luke's gaze. “Because of me. The tape of Michael's testimony was heart-wrenching. No, wait…
Riveting
was the word my station manager used.” She shook her head, disgusted by the memory of what happened next. “The ratings soared. They replayed the interview again and again. It was only a matter of time before Gonzalez saw it.”

“And when he did?”

“He was furious, claimed he'd been publicly humiliated. He did an about-face, saying that Michael was his ‘property' and that he'd never give him up. I think he thought that if Michael was returned to him, his name—his pride—could be restored.”

“But the interview—”

“They said I coached him.” She balled her hands into fists. “Gonzalez's lawyers painted me as an ambitious journalist who took advantage of a lonely child and sensationalized the story for my own gain. Maybe they were right about that part.”

“Dana—”

“The bottom line was that the judge bought it—at least to some degree. He was under a lot of pressure. The public was outraged by Michael's testimony but the legal world was watching. I think he tried to split the difference between the two powers, make everyone happy. In the end he placed Michael with his father on a trial basis.”

Luke cradled her against his side, his warm, large hands rubbing her shoulders. Dana leaned against him, craving his
strength. To her surprise every muscle in his body was taut, and she felt him trembling. The realization made her breath catch. He was angry.

“Less than a month later Michael was dead.” She felt drained of grief as she spoke the words, devoid of anything but a slow-burning inner rage. “Gonzalez claimed the fall from his two-story apartment window was an accident. It wasn't. I know that in my heart. Michael's father never wanted him. He just wanted to prove that he owned him.”

“So you were scheduled to testify that you didn't coach Michael?”

“Yes, but the court date was postponed more than once. But I will testify. I'll testify against that monster if it's the last thing I do.”

“He made threats against you?”

“Yes.” Dana tensed at the memory. “It started with phone calls in the middle of the night. I would answer but the caller wouldn't speak. It went on and on, night after night.”

“The police didn't do anything?”

She shrugged. “You're in law enforcement. You know how it is. There's a protocol to these things, steps they wanted to take to document what was happening.”

“There's also a limit to protocol.” Luke's voice vibrated with anger.

“The police urged me to get a call identifier but by the time I had it installed, the calls stopped. But then he took the harassment up a notch, started showing up wherever I was—restaurants, city streets. You name it. I would glimpse his face—not long enough for anyone I was with to see him, of course.”

“He was too smart for that,” Luke added.

Luke's understanding brought her closer to tears. In all the time she'd dealt with Gonzalez, it seemed no one had
understood what he was capable of. She was made to feel as though her imagination was getting the better of her or that she was downright paranoid. “Right after that he ransacked my apartment.” She wiped a tear from her face. “That's when I headed here.”

Luke smiled. “And what a nice, relaxing vacation you're having.”

Dana almost laughed aloud with relief. She'd expected… What had she expected? At the very least she'd thought Luke would have the same controlled look of condemnation that everyone else wore when she spoke of Michael. Of course, none of her friends or co-workers had been callous enough to accuse her of causing Michael's death. In fact, they'd gone to great lengths to reassure her that she'd only done her job, but the truth was always just beneath the surface. She could see it in their eyes.

But not Luke's.

A piercing wail echoed through the cabin, and Dana and Luke both startled before they recognized the baby's cries. Dana automatically started to go to him but hesitated. She'd just confessed her role in a child's death. Things had changed. The trust she'd taken for granted was in question.

“The baby needs you,” he whispered, handing her the flashlight and urging her up.

Relief poured through her, and Dana stood, her legs wobbly. “Okay,” she whispered. She grasped the flashlight, unsure what to say. What
could
she say? Thank you for believing in me? Thanks for giving me a second chance? She hardly knew Luke, yet that's exactly how she felt.

Dana hurried down the hall before she blurted out something that would only cause them both embarrassment, the beam of the flashlight leading the way. She entered the dark bedroom and set the flashlight on the floor, pointing its beam
toward the ceiling as she'd seen Luke do that first day in the storage closet.

“Sweetheart,” she cooed, lifting the crying baby against her shoulder. “Don't cry.”

An incredible satisfaction washed over her when he instantly quieted. She was still capable of comforting him. Nothing had really changed. At least not here. Not now. Dana smiled as tears spilled over her cheeks again.

She could still do this.

Dana felt, rather than saw, Luke enter the room behind her. There was a soft noise, and then she felt the heat of his body near hers in the darkness. His hand brushed her shoulder and Dana shivered, inhaling the scent of him, reveling in the comfort of his nearness. He reached around her, his forearm brushing against her breast.

She smiled when she saw what he held in his hand. A bottle for the baby. Dana gently lowered the baby from her shoulder and Luke offered him the bottle. He hungrily accepted it and Luke chuckled, the deep rumble emanating from his chest.

Dana shivered, and Luke stroked her arms with his big hands. “Cold?” he asked.

“No,” she answered, knowing there was more truth to the words than she wanted Luke to know.

His hands lingered on her shoulders, the three of them clinging together in the shadows.

“I know a thing or two,” he whispered, his lips a fraction of an inch from her ear, “about carrying the weight of other people's guilt.”

“But you don't understand—” She turned and started to protest, but Luke pressed his finger against her lips, silencing her.

“Don't do it, Dana.” His finger trailed over her lips, tracing them in the near darkness. “Don't accept the responsi
bility for someone else's actions. If you do, your own dreams will die.”

She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. There was something in his voice and she knew that his words held as much meaning for him as they did for her. She was certain of it.

“Why?” she asked. “What dreams did you let die?”

L
uke pulled back, considering her question.

He hadn't dreamed in so long that he'd forgotten how. Maybe as a child he'd held the same assumptions as others—that he'd someday marry and have a family. Maybe he'd even wanted that once. But the idea had died a long time ago. He'd stopped making assumptions about happiness and faced the truth: his life would take a different path, one that repaid the Sutherlin debt to this town.

One that didn't include the reward of a wife or child.

Luke's fingers lingered, savoring the softness of Dana's mouth before he forced his hand to drop.

“What dreams did you let die?”

“None,” he answered. “I don't dream.”

At least I didn't until now.

Even in the darkness Dana took his breath away. He wanted to hold her, to
really
hold her. Even more than that, Luke's body ached to make her his. He wanted to kiss away
her pain, to wrap her in pleasure until she forgot who she was and where she'd been. What she'd endured.

His body began to respond to the idea of making love to Dana, to the temptation to touch her in the darkness. It would be so easy to lift his hand right now, to brush the fullness of her breast with his knuckles, to stroke her nipple until it hardened beneath his touch. And he knew it would. They would be good together…

He took a small step backward, putting distance between them so that Dana wouldn't feel the readiness of his body. What Luke could give her now and what he couldn't give her later warred within him.

They were two very different things.

Women like Shelly Henson were easy to come by. And even easier to let go. Dana Langston wasn't that kind of woman. Luke knew already that she would stay with him, would haunt him in a way that no other woman ever had. He'd dealt with all sorts of ghosts in his life, but none made him ache for something he couldn't have.

And wasn't able to give.

“Why?” Dana asked.

She didn't draw closer to him. She didn't reach for him or take his hand. But he
felt
her in a way that made him weak. That simple, breathless word was somehow laced with desire, and it made him insane with want.

It also scared the hell out of him.

Luke shook his head. “Because dreaming isn't good for some people.”

“People like you?” The words were soft, filled with sadness.

“Right.” He picked up the flashlight but held the beam against the floor. “For people like me.”

“But—”

“You really should feed the baby near the fire,” he in
terrupted. “It's warmer there.” Luke heard the frustration in his own voice and winced.

Dammit, she was getting to him.

He flashed the beam of light over the bedroom floor as he gathered the baby's supplies. When his arms were full and his body under control, he headed toward the den. Dana followed without comment and settled on the floor near the fire, tears drying on her cheeks, fading like a bad memory.

Luke stole a glance at Dana as she stared sightlessly into the fire, her back straight with the determination of a true warrior. Her profile was regal and her face was flawless, but the emotional wounds were as obvious as any scar. Luke knew that the pain of losing Michael would always remain. His wish for Dana was that it could at least be a bittersweet one, that she could remember the child that was, as well as the child that could have been.

Maybe one day that's all that would be left of Paul Gonzalez—a faded bad memory. He hoped that was true, for her sake.

His hands ached with the urge to touch her. He wanted to comfort her, to make the pain go away. But Luke only knew one way to do that. And that way would entangle them in body as well as soul.

Luke balled his fists and released them, focusing on what needed to be done instead of what he wanted to do to Dana. With Dana. The fireplace, with its warmth and light, would become the nucleus of the cabin since they'd lost power. They would need to settle here. But there was a lot to be done first, from both a safety and comfort perspective.

Though Luke instinctively felt the sniper was long gone, he couldn't afford to be wrong. Being constantly exposed to the windows that lined the den was a definite liability. He needed to block them or they would be entirely too visible from the outside.

And from a comfort perspective the hardwood floors weren't a good option. Struck with an idea, Luke ordered Sam off the sofa and removed the cushions. As he'd hoped, there was a functional, if not comfortable, pull-out mattress inside. He angled the sofa toward the warmth of the fireplace and unfolded the mattress. There were questionable lumps and stains, but at least they'd have a place to sleep for the night. Sam returned, his tail wagging, ready to reclaim the sofa in its new and improved form.

“Forget about it,” Luke warned, rubbing Sam's shoulders. Sam slumped away and settled at Dana's side with a sigh.

“I think you've hurt his feelings,” Dana whispered, a hint of amusement back in her voice.

“He'll forgive me,” Luke countered. Looking at the disgruntled expression on the dog's face, he added, “Eventually.”

“What are you doing?”

“Giving up on that call from the Holiday Inn.”

Luke retreated to the bedroom, flashlight in tow, and pulled the pillows and blankets from the bed, carrying them back to the den. He spread part of the bedding atop the old mattress, hoping that the adage Out of Sight, Out of Mind would work in this case. He used the remaining bedding to block the windows, draping them over an abandoned curtain rod.

“Mission accomplished,” he announced, but was met with silence.

He looked at Dana's face, aglow in the firelight as she watched the baby. The little guy seemed to bask in her nearness as well as the warmth, occasionally smiling around the bottle, his eyes twinkling. She smiled in return, obviously unable to resist his charm.

Stacking the cushions and pillows against the sofa back,
Luke motioned for Dana. “Come and sit on the bed. It's bound to be more comfortable.”

“I'm okay,” she answered, not meeting his eyes.

Luke felt guilt like a fist in his gut. Despite the fact that she'd regained control of her emotions, she wasn't ready to take what he offered. Something more than a flash of desire had transpired between them, and the evidence of it still lingered.

He'd hurt her with his questions and veiled accusations. But dammit, he'd only been doing his job, which was something he should be doing now.

Luke turned and snatched the cell phone off the table, leaving behind the temptation and the tension, abandoning the cozy scene laced with suspicion and desire. He stepped into the night, and the icy wind hit him full force. Luke grimaced, cursing beneath his breath. He needed to get them all out of this freezer. But most of all he needed answers.

“Work,” he commanded the phone as he punched the power button. The phone powered up quickly, as if responding to the threat, its face illuminated. He stepped out into the snow-covered grass, returning to the spot he'd last gotten a signal. Luck was on his side today, and the phone beeped, its glowing icon indicating that it had made a connection. Luke dialed the station's number before his luck and the battery ran out.

“Sweetwater—”

“Sutherlin here,” he yelled. He didn't recognize the officer that answered over the static-laced connection, but he knew it wasn't Ben. “Has Allen gotten that trace?”

“Chief? Yeah, hold on. He's got it.”

Before Luke could protest the idea of holding, Allen was on the phone. “The number belongs to a Michelle Alexander of Atlanta.”

“The mother?” Luke asked.

“Looks that way. The DMV has the address in the database. It shows the tenant as owning a blue four-door Buick LeSabre. A 1989 model. The driver's license records for Michelle Alexander list her as blond, five foot six, twenty-nine years old.”

“That sounds right all the way around. What about the child?”

“Michelle Alexander has a son named Daniel, listed on the birth certificate as being four months old. The father is listed as ‘unknown.' So far we haven't been able to locate any living family, but we're still trying. Does all that fit with what you've got?”

Dammit.

Luke swallowed the lump in his throat. What he had was an orphaned infant. He didn't know squat about babies, but the age sounded in the ballpark, as did the other details. And he wished like hell it didn't. Why couldn't the kid have at least had a father waiting in the wings?

“Chief, you there?”

“Yeah,” Luke yelled as a hiss of static interrupted. “That sounds like the victim and the survivor.”

Another wave of static hit. “Should I go ahead and contact Family Services?” Ben yelled.

Luke looked over his shoulder at the cabin. Through a sliver of windowpane he could see Dana, rocking slightly and talking to the baby as the infant finished the bottle. She still hadn't moved to sit on the bed. Stubborn woman. Despite the delicate packaging, she had enough grit for two people, which was probably what had seen her through all that she'd endured.

“Hold off on that call until further notice,” Luke yelled in response.

“Yes, sir. Listen, they say a warm front is moving in.
Hopefully we should be able to get y'all out in another twenty-four.”

“Good news.” The news was a relief, but Luke knew it wasn't time to let his guard down. “Any word on Gonzalez?”

“Damn, I'm sorry, Chief. I forgot to tell you that they picked him up—”

The phone beeped, its low-battery icon flashing predictably. Luke knew this was likely the last call he'd be able to make. “Make it quick,” he ordered.

“They picked him in Altadena. He was armed and ready to run. He had his suitcase packed and a Remington thirty-aught-six in the back seat and a wad of cash in the glove box. He wasn't going to show for that court hearing or any other.”

Guilt and relief coiled in his gut, and he forced himself to drop old suspicions and look at the facts. Though Altadena was a considerable distance from Sweetwater, at least an hour's drive without storm conditions, it was the next viable town south of here. It made perfect sense that if the storm had forced Paul Gonzalez to abandon his plan to harm Dana, he'd head toward Altadena.

The phone beeped one final time and shut itself down before Luke could thank Allen for the information. Just as well. He was anxious to tell Dana that Gonzalez had been captured, and that she'd been right about him being the shooter.

And that he'd been wrong. My God, he'd been wrong. He winced, well aware of the needless pain he'd caused her. Luke shook off a niggling of doubt. The pieces of the puzzle fit, considering Gonzalez had been picked up nearby, so why couldn't he just accept the answers that were right in front of him?

Luke was hit with a revelation that stopped him cold and
crawled through his gut like bad liquor. It had been easier, he realized, to believe Dana was guilty of a heinous crime than it had been to face up to his own feelings toward her and the baby. He felt rigid with emotion he hadn't felt in years, emotion he recognized as yearning.

At that moment Luke knew that he not only needed to set things right with Dana where
he
was concerned, he wanted to set everything that had gone wrong in her life right again. She deserved it. He stepped onto the porch and peered through the window. Hell, she deserved exactly what she was holding.

A baby like Daniel. A shot at happiness.

Maybe it took being snowbound in this damned cabin for him to realize what other people—normal people—wanted in their lives. He hadn't even known what to long for until he'd been unwillingly given a dose of it.

He had a fleeting image of introducing Dana to his grandfather. They'd be instant buddies, he knew. When Luke realized the image in his head included the baby, he almost laughed. Thoughts like that belonged to other people, not to him. But there it was all the same.

He shook his head. Allen said a warm front was moving in. Luke had seen a warm front arrive on the heels of a storm before. Though nothing in his lifetime compared to this blizzard, he knew from experience that a rise in temperature coupled with persistent sunshine could wipe out any trace of ice and snow within a day or two. That was the South's fickle way. In another month, it would seem the freak spring snowstorm had never happened. Trees would begin budding and bulbs would poke their heads through the ground. Life would go on as usual, leaving them nothing but memories and exaggerated stories to tell.

He and Dana would certainly have a story to tell.

A feeling of discontent gnawed at him and Luke rolled
his aching shoulder. Why did the thought of life returning to normal make him want to break something?

Luke watched as Dana settled the sleeping baby in the bureau drawer, patting his back until he settled comfortably against the soft blankets. He studied her movements as she glanced to and from the fire, a worried frown on her face. He smiled, oddly warmed by her maternal instincts as she obviously judged the distance too close. As he expected, she carried the makeshift crib into a shadowy corner of the den, close enough to the warmth but distanced from the glare and danger of the flames.

Her instincts and actions toward the baby were obvious, an open book. So what had ever made him think differently?

When Dana glanced up, she caught his gaze through the glass pane of the door. Despite the distance and the structure that separated them, something electric and intimate was exchanged in the gaze.

Luke opened the door as if he were operating outside his own body. His mind was working double time, and he refused to stop and analyze the images and yearnings that were crashing through his head. He removed his snowy jacket and tossed it over the kitchen table. His holster and gun followed.

“What is it?” Dana asked, her gaze uncertain.