Bringing Baby Home (5 page)

“Hey, whaswrongwithyou?”

Liz lifted her head. Three boys on bikes. Not little boys. Young men, actually. They were too far away for her to see them clearly. Singly, none of the three would have appeared at all menacing, but as a group they gave off a sort of gangster vibe that made her wary.

Liz didn’t answer. She took a breath and started jogging again, giving them wide berth. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been paying attention to where she was running and had wound
up in the middle of a large and completely empty church parking lot. She passed by the building nearly every day and there were always cars around. But not today.

“Damn,” she muttered.

The church occupied about a third of a block and was surrounded by residential neighborhoods, but the closest houses were well out of shouting range. She headed toward the intersection where there was bound to be traffic at this time of day. People on their way home to dinner. Busy, hungry people. Lots of them.

“Hey, you. You’re that Gypsy, ain’t you?” One of the boys called after her.

There was no missing the kid’s denigrating tone.
Gypsy scum
, she’d heard some boy say in the fourth grade. Her first introduction to prejudice.

Words can’t hurt you, her mother had said when Liz came home from school in tears. But Yetta was wrong. Words could be the precursor to violence. Liz had seen firsthand the tragic repercussions of ethnic hatred. Death and destruction had left a lasting impression on her mind.

She stopped running. She hated confrontation of any kind. The smart thing to do was to walk away, but she’d learned the hard way that ignoring the problem often led to bigger problems.

In Bosnia she’d noticed the small group of surly, smoking, angry men that gathered every day at a certain street corner. Sympathetic to all the horrors and losses the locals had incurred, she’d never reported them—even when one or two made lurid comments and taunting gestures.

She’d paid a high price for minding her own business. These boys are young. Maybe, I can still reach them, she thought.

She turned around. She had to hop over a low, white
chain that directed foot traffic away from the newly seeded yard encircling the playground the church had recently installed. She could smell the scent of cedar from the red-orange shavings under the jungle gym.

One of the boys swung his bike around to face her. He was biggest of the three and something about him seemed familiar.
I’ve seen him before.
Which made sense, she realized. He must know who she was since he’d called her a Gypsy.

All three were wearing sloppy, oversized jeans that were belted almost below their butts. Their ball caps were pulled low over their foreheads making their chins, uniformly adorned with acne and half a dozen whiskers, their most prominent features.

The glare of the setting sun put them in shadow. She blinked and stepped to one side. She wanted to see their eyes when she talked to them. She wasn’t afraid, even though she probably should have been. But this was broad daylight in a relatively public place, she reasoned.

Plus, after what happened to her in Bosnia, she’d learned self-defense. When she’d finally recovered sufficiently—physically—to travel, she’d gone to New Zealand to stay with a friend. The woman, a former relief worker Liz had met on her first tour in Bosnia, taught yoga and meditation at a youth hostel on the South Island. Her friend believed all women should know how to defend themselves.

As the boys murmured to each other, Liz unconsciously prepared—hips square to her body, knees flexed to take advantage of her lower center of gravity. She consciously braced her shoulders and said, “Is it Gypsies you hate or women?”

The leader slouched on the seat of his bike and grunted something she couldn’t make out. The smaller boy fidgeted
and looked ready to hightail it. All three were white. The bikes they were riding probably could have fed the children at the orphanage for a year.

“We heard about you—and the two hos you got livin’ with you. You got some kind of kinky sex thing going?”

The last brought an edgy giggle from the other punks.

Yep, neighborhood kids, Liz decided. This one, at least. They probably overheard their parents gossiping. The idea made her slightly ill. She’d done a good thing by opening her home to two desperate young women. How could that possibly be cause for scorn and ridicule?

Anger made her take a step forward. “I know you, don’t I?” she asked, pointing at the leader. “You live near me. I’ve seen you riding your bike around. What’s your name?”

His barely audible curse wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before. A small-minded bully with a trashy mouth. Nothing new there. She decided to ignore him. “Is that what you think?” she asked his two friends. “That because my family is Romani, I’m an inferior person? Well, I’m not the one standing in a parking lot calling people names, am I?”

The smallest boy, who was obviously younger than his friends, turned his bike in the opposite direction and took off peddling. The middle-sized kid groaned and tried calling him back. “Joey, get your ass back here, you coward.”

Liz took a step closer. “He’s not the coward. You are. All bullies are cowards deep down. They take advantage of someone else’s weaknesses to harass them because it makes them feel powerful. Calling a girl names. Yeah, that’s real brave.”

The boy she’d been addressing flushed scarlet and looked down. His pal, the leader, shoved his bike to the ground and advanced toward her. Although not full-grown, he was
several inches taller than Liz and a good thirty pounds heavier. And she could tell by the vitriolic flow of curse words that spewed from his lips, this kid was in a rage.

Whoever said rape was about anger, not sex, knew what they were talking about,
her self-defense teacher had said
. If you keep your wits about you, you can use blind rage to your advantage.

When he charged, Liz used his forward momentum to trip him. The kid did a sprawling belly flop on the pavement. His friend, who’d finally screwed up his courage, let out a cry of outrage and rushed to his buddy’s aid. Together, they probably could have knocked her down and done enough damage to warrant a trip to the hospital—something she couldn’t afford.

Liz turned to run, but the kid on the ground grabbed her ankle, twisting with both hands. His friend lunged at her from the side and latched on to her wrist. The sense of captivity triggered a memory so vivid it felt ripped from her womb. Old fear…and a burning fury that she’d tamped down for years surfaced, too.

“No,” she cried, fighting them off with all her might. “I am not your victim, you snot-nosed little bastards. You’re gonna think twice before you ever do this to another woman.”

David
wasn’t in a hurry. He had a cat to feed. Big deal. A solitary meal and some seedlings to replant. Another boring night in one of the hottest travel destinations in the world. The irony wasn’t lost on him.

He slowed to a stop and looked in both directions. Just as he took his foot off the clutch, a kid on a bike shot out of a driveway and raced across the street as if the devil were on his tail.

By failing to step on the gas, David killed the engine. “Damn.” He started the truck and eased forward, but a flash of color caught his eye. A commotion of some kind was taking place in the parking lot of the church. Curious, he turned to the right, instead of the left. The truck chugged slightly as he inched forward for a better look at what was happening.

Three people were involved in a confrontation. Two kids—big kids—and a woman. In a purple tank top…

He let out a curse and punched the accelerator. He didn’t look to see if there was oncoming traffic or a curb. A thick white chain kept him getting as close as he would have liked.

“Hey, what’s going on?” he yelled, jumping out of his truck.

Both
boys turned to look at him then took off running. One was smart enough to grab his bike. The other clambered up a Dumpster to reach the top of a concrete block fence and slither into somebody’s backyard. David didn’t try to follow either of them. He’d gotten a good look at the big kid’s face. The same boy he’d seen not a half hour earlier leaving his stepmom’s house. He was Liz’s neighbor.

“Liz. Oh, shit, are you okay?”

She was on one knee, leaning over, breathing hard. Her hair was half out of the ponytail she’d had it in. Her running clothes were a little scuffed looking, but fortunately she was still in one piece.

Or was she?

When she lifted her head, he saw the feral look in her eyes. The kindhearted healer he’d had tea with was gone, replaced by a stranger—a warrior who’d vanquished the enemy.

He watched her get to her feet, keeping his hands close to, but not quite touching, her shoulders. He saw a tremor pass through her body. Anger? Fear? Dread? He wasn’t sure what.

“Liz,” he said bending slightly to make eye contact. “Do you need a doctor? Do you have your cell phone with you? We should call the police.”

He wanted to take back the words the instant they left his mouth. He didn’t do cops. Good Lord, the last thing he needed was his name on some police blotter.

She didn’t respond to his questions, but a quick scan of her body told him she wasn’t carrying her phone. “Can you make it to my truck?”

His question apparently connected. She blinked twice then looked around, as if coming back to her body. Her hands returned to a clenched state. “Where are they?”

“Gone. You’re safe.” He gingerly took her elbow. “If I
hadn’t shown up, I’m pretty sure you would have whupped their butts.”

He wasn’t sure that was true. There had been two of them, after all. But she didn’t need to hear that. Not now.

She stopped suddenly and looked over her shoulder. “I…I wasn’t expecting them to react like that. They were so young. I thought they’d listen. But then the bigger boy got in my face and this time sorta got mixed up in my head with the other time.”

The other time?
A sick feeling started to churn the acid in his stomach. “I’m going to take you home, and you can call the cops from there, okay?”

He wasn’t sure if she nodded or not. Twilight was pressing in. A fleeting thought hit him. What would have happened if he hadn’t come by? He swallowed hard to keep the bad taste from climbing up his throat.

He closed the passenger door and raced around to the driver’s side, stopping only long enough to toss the abandoned bike into the bed of his truck. Yep, same bike he’d seen Crissy’s stepson riding that afternoon. He and that kid were going to have words.

“Do you need to see a doctor? There’s an out-patient clinic not far from here.”

She shook her head. “I’m not hurt. Just embarrassed. I knew there was a reason I never preached from soap-boxes—the fall from one hurts like hell.”

He made her explain.

“I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ve been called names before, but this time, something just sorta snapped. I honestly thought if I talked to them—made them see me as a person, not as a member of a minority deserving of their scorn—I might actually make a difference. As if lecturing kids that age would do any good. Am I a fool or what?”

“More
idealistic, than foolish,” he said. “But sometimes you have to put your foot down. Smart or not.”

She took a deep breath and turned slightly to look at him. “You’re right. Damn it. I was thinking like a victim. I did that once before and promised myself never again.”

He was glad to hear the spunk in her tone. He nodded. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, from what I could see, you weren’t behaving like a victim. Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

“New Zealand.” She put the middle finger of her right hand up to her mouth and nibbled on what he assumed was a broken nail. “A friend of mine taught me self-defense and in return I did physical therapy on her shoulder. She’d been knifed as a teen. The tendons never healed quite right.”

David knew there was more to the story but he didn’t ask. They’d already reached the traffic bumps on her street and his tools in the back—along with the bike—rattled loudly. Liz flinched and pulled into a protective posture.

“We’re here. Your place. You should be safe now.” Unless the kid next door had something else on his mind. David planned to find out, after he helped Liz get settled. He didn’t like bullies. And even though getting involved went against the basic code he’d adopted when he’d started his new life, David couldn’t run the risk that the brat across the fence might be plotting some kind of revenge on the woman who’d refused to be terrorized by him.

H
ALF AN HOUR LATER
, David was still sitting in Liz’s living room. He’d walked her to her door, and had planned to disappear as soon as she was safely in the hands of her roommates, but when the two, highly excitable, non-English-speaking women appeared on the porch, he hadn’t been given that option.

“You. Come
in,” the taller said, her tone less a command than a hopeful request.

“She need you,” the shorter added.

He’d always been a sucker for a woman in need. Hell, he’d married one, right? He’d known from the start that Kay wasn’t in love with him. He’d naively assumed that those kinds of feelings would grow between them. But they hadn’t. Not really. Respect. Admiration. Friendship had blossomed. And their mutual devotion to the children had soldered their bond—for a while.

But love? He wasn’t sure he even knew what that was.

“These are my roommates, Lydia and Reezira,” Liz said, pointing to the tall one first. “This is David. He saved my life.”

David tried to explain that that was an exaggeration, but neither of the pair seemed to get his meaning.

“I make tea,” Reezira said.

“Taste bad. You like,” Lydia added.

As they disappeared into the kitchen, which seemed to be just on the other side of the far wall of the living room where Liz was leading him. “If you have to run, don’t worry about the tea. The girls love brewing it, even though they add so much sugar I nearly gag. Still, it’s better than the sodas they’d seemed addicted to when they first got here.”

“I’ll stay a minute,” David said, looking around as he sat down. Simple, uncluttered yet cozy. The decor had a personal feel. He was pretty sure nothing on the walls had been purchased to appease someone else’s idea of style. This was all Liz.

“I get the impression you’re ambivalent about calling the police. Can I ask why?”

“We Romani don’t have the best working relationship with law enforcement,” Liz said rubbing at the abrasion on her knee. Red, but not bleeding. “Comes from centuries of
being picked on, I guess. All I know is my first inclination is to call my cousin Gregor. He has connections all over town. He could probably find those brats and put the fear of God in them, but that might only serve to escalate the bad feelings they have about the Romani.”

“You’re right. Disciplining bad behavior in teens isn’t your job. Sometimes professional help is needed. What if harassing joggers is the first step toward becoming rapists?” he asked. Her flinch was too obvious to miss. Something had happened to her before this incident. Something he probably didn’t want to know about.

“Hey, I’m not a big fan of the police, either, but this is the kind of problem they have the means and authority to handle.”

Her roommates returned at that moment, each carrying an oversized mug. “No cops,” Lydia said, in her heavily accented voice. She set her mug on the side table next to David.

“No good,” Reezira chimed in, giving her cup to Liz.

Both were slim with wavy dark hair that fell almost to the waist. Their gaunt cheeks gave them a waifish look that many men probably found attractive. David preferred Liz’s toned muscles and nicely rounded physique.

“Ban…bon…bondage,” Reezira declared. She seemed a bit timid, but her concern for Liz’s injured knee was obvious. She dashed away only to return a moment later with a box of adhesive strips and a plastic bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

Liz let the young woman attend to the wound then she asked Lydia to hand her the portable phone. David couldn’t make out the conversation because a puffy beige cat distracted him.

The animal didn’t seem to have limbs; it was a slow-moving tank of fluff.

“Baby,” Lydia said, picking up the beast, which had to
weigh at least ten pounds. She buried her nose in the animal’s fur and her whole face disappeared for a minute. “More tea?”

David hadn’t tried it. He picked up the mug, which proclaimed, “Life is too short to dance with ugly men.” His grin made it hard to drink. But he did. A large gulp. The powerful combination of minty sweetness brought to mind a candy he remembered eating at the movie theater with his dad.

He took a second swallow then said, “I’m good. Thanks. I should be going.”

Liz, who was sitting in a navy blue recliner across the room from him, returned the phone to the end table and said, “Um…I hate to ask, but could you wait till my mom gets here? That was her on the phone. She wants to meet you. She loves a hero.”

He’d waited long enough. That sixth sense of his that had kept him out of harm’s way for four years was telling him to leave. Now.

“Well, that’s not me.” He stood up and turned to leave just as the doorbell rang.

Liz bolted to her feet. “They’re here.”

They? Already? How was that possible?

“Mom and Zeke were only a block away when I called. I’d forgotten that they’d planned an early dinner with my sister Kate and her fiancé at the Hyatt Regency Lake Las Vegas. They’d just finished when Mom got a feeling that I was in trouble. It’s a Gypsy thing.”

Gypsy? My God, she was serious about that?

Two people walked into the room. The woman, who—after hugging her daughter—advanced on him with a wide smile and friendly look in her eyes was definitely Liz’s mother. Elegant. Dignified. Almost regal. She paused a foot away to scrutinize him with a frankness that made him
squirm inwardly. But it was the man who followed a step behind that set off an alarm so loud David was surprised no one else could hear it.

Cop? Police? FBI? The guy belonged to some branch of law enforcement; he’d bet his life on it.

Damn. Why didn’t I leave when I had the chance?

Liz kept the introduction short. “Yetta and Zeke, meet David. My knight-errant.”

“David, it’s very nice to meet you. Thank you for helping my daughter,” Yetta Radonovic said. She shook David’s hand firmly, and then turned to her daughter. “Are you okay, dearest?”

“Scrape on the knee. My neck is a little sore, but nothing a hot bath won’t fix.”

“Let me see.”

Liz submitted to her mother’s gentle ministrations because she knew there was no way to avoid them. She’d always believed that her leanings toward the medical field had stemmed from the time she’d spent at her mother’s side—both in the herb garden and on visits to family members who’d needed help or were in pain.

“I’m fine, Mom. Honest. But I wouldn’t be if David hadn’t arrived when he did. The little brats had more energy than me.”

“How old?” Zeke asked.

Although Liz might have preferred to discuss this matter alone—without presence of the police—that hadn’t been an option since Zeke had been driving the car when Liz called Yetta.

“Early teens?” she postulated, looking at David for confirmation. “What’s wrong with my mind? When I try to draw the whole thing up, all I can see are black hats and three pimply chins.”

“Take
your time,” Zeke said, sitting down only after Yetta chose a spot on the sofa. “It’ll come back to you.”

“More like fifteen, sixteen,” David said. “The biggest of the three was pretty hefty. Hundred and fifty pounds, maybe.”

Zeke pulled a small, lined notebook out of the pocket of his black Windbreaker. The look he gave David was professional and…just a little intimidating. “Who are you again?”

Liz suddenly realized that Zeke would recognize David’s name the minute he said it out loud because of the license plate search she’d asked him to run. Damn. She didn’t want David to know she’d been investigating him. Not only did that sound intrusive, it made her look desperate. Or wacko.

“A friend,” she said. “A very resourceful friend who was at the right place at the right time.”

“Actually, I arrived too late to be much help. Liz already had the little hoodlums running home to their mommies. One of them was in such a hurry he left his bike behind. It’s in the back of my truck. And I could be wrong, but,” he hesitated before adding, “I think it belongs to the kid next door.”

Liz let out an audible gasp. He was right. No wonder the boy looked familiar. Liz had seen him half a dozen times, although never as close up as this afternoon.

“Oh, my God,” she exclaimed. “I didn’t make the connection. That’s how he knew I was Rom.”

The realization sickened her. Her neighbors were bigots.