Echoes (11 page)
Everyone he'd talked to had said she'd slept a lot, but no one would necessarily find that abnormal after giving birth.
Cassinia drew up her five feet two inches and said, "I'm Maria's caseworker. I want paternity DNA on the fetus so we know who to nail."
"We've already requested it."
"I'll want a sample from the other one as well," she told Matt.
He nodded. The men were being held on transportation of stolen property, but if it turned out Maria had been wrongly transported, held, or coerced, stronger charges would be filed.
She turned back to the detective. "What's the doctor's best guess on her age?"
"She's sixteen. Said her uncle was supposed to get her into an American high school."
"He's a resident?"
"Don't know. She shut down, wouldn't even give her last name."
Cassinia's fists clenched. "The uncle's in custody?"
"Hard to tell who's related to whom. For all we know, he may have passed her off to this group. Is there anyone who might convince her to speak with us once she's able to?"
Matt considered that. "She seemed to trust the man who has temporary custody of her baby. I can tell him what you need." And prepare them for what might happen next. Reunification was the goal. But if she'd abandoned the infant, she might have actually convinced herself he was dead.
————
At the sight of Matt Hammond's Pathfinder outside the villa, Sofie bundled the baby into his thin green blanket. Did he really have to check the child every other day? The baby's thighs were plump, his hair was clean, diaper dry, tummy full. What more did Matt expect? The alphabet song?
She sighed. The emotionally charged, sleepless nights were wearing, but that was no excuse for projecting her own qualms onto Matt. He had expressed no doubt about her ability to care for the infant, so why did she feel such a need to prove herself to him?
Star, in a flimsy layered dress, beat her to the door. Matt stood in khakis and a terra-cotta microfiber shirt rolled up from his wrists as his others had been. He must find sleeve lengths a challenge with his long limbs. Even so, he looked neat and professional.
He didn't smile. "Hi, Star. Is Lance here?"
"Nope. He and Rese had an appointment."
Sofie joined them, picking up on Matt's serious mien. "Is there a problem?"
"We found Maria."
Her heart skipped. "Is she all right?"
"She's in the hospital."
"What happened?" She pressed the baby to her chest. When had he begun to fit so well?
"It's not clear. We were hoping your brother could talk to her."
"No one in the hospital speaks Spanish?"
"It's not a problem of translation. It's trust."
"Oh."
"She's not—"
Her phone interrupted him. She jostled the baby. "Would you . . ."
"Sure."
She handed him the baby and slipped the phone from her pocket. "Hello?"
Silence. She glanced at it. Another blocked number. "Who is this?"
She heard breathing, but it sounded small and shallow. Her heart quickened. "Who's there?"
"Um."
Her heart lodged in her throat. It had sounded . . . "Hello? Are you there?"
The signal ended. She punched dial-back, but it rang into voicemail. No message saying whose phone it was or any means set up for her to leave a message of her own. She looked up to find Matt watching and released her breath. "Wrong number."
"Been getting them lately?"
Her fingers shook as she pocketed the phone. "For a while. They're pretty random."
"Things that seem random usually have a pattern. And a purpose." He cocked his head. "Has someone threatened you?"
"It's mostly silence." Silence that held a need she could almost touch. "No big deal."
"It upsets you."
This one had. The shaky little voice that murmured, "Um." She'd almost imagined . . .
"Do you recognize the number?"
"It's blocked."
"Is there anyone you've refused, rejected, or torqued off?"
"No." Because the only one had walked away and not looked back. "You were saying, about Maria . . ."
"They took her into surgery to remove a dead fetus."
"But she already had the baby."
"There was another. The infection's pretty bad." He rocked the baby in his arms. "We need Lance to help get some answers."
"I'll tell him as soon as I can. But he and Rese made a point of leaving their phones. It's the first time they've gotten away."
He nodded. "Okay."
"Can we see her?"
"As soon as she's cleared for visitors. But not with this one." He patted the infant's back.
"He might comfort her more than any of us."
"Not if she intended to abandon him. She's claiming he's dead."
Sofie searched his face. "So . . ."
"So we need to proceed cautiously until we get the facts." He slid the baby down to the crook of his arm. "Things are never as simple as we'd like."
With the tiny baby cradled in his long arm, he looked like a guardian angel, the kind that would never let a child be lost or taken if there was anything at all he could do.
Looking up from the baby, Matt caught Sofie's expression. Nothing in the rules prohibited socializing with a caregiver, though his years in law had made him cautious. "Would you like to go for coffee or something?"
"I thought you were avoiding caffeine."
Good memory. "That was last week." It had seemed important then.
"I see." She half smiled. "You accomplished your goal?"
"Close enough."
Star rose up from a high-backed wing chair that had hidden her in the parlor. "There's a latte machine in the kitchen. I'll play barista."
Sofie raised her brows. "It would be easier, I guess, than taking the baby out."
"Sure." He didn't care where the coffee came from. What he wanted was time with her. How long had it been since he'd felt so aware of a woman? How long since that awareness had triggered not only a physical response, but a desire to know, to shield, to engage.
She took the baby from his arms, and he followed her to the kitchen, as well appointed as many restaurants. Near the large stainless espresso machine, Star poured beans into a grinder, humming along with its whine. The noise didn't faze the old woman sleeping in the overstuffed chair in the corner near the stove.
Matt pulled out a chair for her. "Will we bother your grandmother?"
Sofie shook her head. "She's used to commotion. Most of her family lives under one roof."
"In a house like this?" What was it with them flocking together?
"An apartment building. But the families freely overlap."
He thanked Star when she delivered their frothy lattes, sipped his and smiled. He typically took his coffee black and practical, and wouldn't have thought he'd care for the hazelnut flavor, but it wasn't bad. The smoothness of the brew spoke to the quality of the beans and the freshness of its preparation.
"How's your dissertation coming?"
"It's not." Sofie peered down at the dozing infant in her arms.
"Has he interfered?"
"Only because I've let him." She rested her hand over the baby's chest. "I'm not sure that's my direction anymore. I've put it on hold."
"That's a big decision."
"It should be, I suppose. I've worked hard enough toward it these last five years." She trailed her finger up and down the baby's arm. "Now it doesn't seem to matter."
He seriously hoped she wasn't quitting because of an infant who would be returned to his mother if at all possible. "What will you do instead?"
"At some point I'd like to sleep." She kissed the baby's head and smiled.
She was so good with him—better than a confused teenage mother who had convinced herself the baby was dead?
Antonia awoke with a snort and stared. "What's all this?"
Sofie turned. "You remember Matt Hammond, Nonna. From Child Protective Services?"
"I kn . . . ow who he is. What does he want?"
Star let loose a throaty laugh. "What they all want, Grandmother, deep inside that wolf skin." She threw her arms wide. " 'Love is a familiar. Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but Love.' "
Sofie said, "They found Maria, Nonna. Matt came to tell Lance."
Smooth. Masterfully unruffled.
"What about our baby?" Antonia's stare sharpened.
"Nothing's settled," he told her. "He'll stay here for now, if you're still willing and able."
Antonia made a sound that mocked his foolishness. "What else would we be?"
"Good." He set his mug on the table and stood up. "I'll keep you posted on Maria's condition. Will you have Lance call as soon as he gets in?"
"He's off with his betrothed." Star swept up his mug.
"They're engaged?" He looked from Star to Sofie. Did prophets marry? Beget prophlets?
Star said, "'Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.' And around here, mate, it's catchin'."
"Well, give them my congratulations."
Sofie tucked the baby into her grandmother's arms. "You can tell him when you see him." She walked him to the door.
"Was it a surprise?"
"Yes and no."
He hesitated, then turned. "Does it fit his religion? I don't know how extreme faith works, but—"
"It doesn't cause impotence." Sofie leaned on the doorknob, enjoying his discomfiture.
"I didn't . . ." But maybe he had meant it. Holy men hung out alone in the desert, wearing animal skins and eating bugs. Lance's normal masculinity contradicted his supposed spirituality. Didn't blending the two end in hypocrisy?
Matt fished out his keys. "Thanks for the coffee and the chat. It was . . . interesting."
"Star isn't shy."
He huffed a laugh. "I got that. But neither are you."
"Because I answered what you wanted to ask?"
"Yeah, that. And . . ." And what? What did he really know about her? "You seem pretty open, that's all."
"I'm not allowed to keep secrets." Her hint of a smile was too enigmatic.
He wanted to pursue that. But he had to get back. "Have Lance call?"
"I will." She stayed in the doorway while he reached his vehicle, raised a hand in farewell when he looked back. What difference did it make if everyone in her house was odd? He could deal with that. He smiled all the way back to the office.
L
ance dashed into the hospital. He'd stayed into the evening in Napa with Rese after hiring the broker to auction their wine. He'd coveted a day alone with her and couldn't regret that time even when he'd heard about Maria. He did, however, chafe the slow climb of the elevator that hung, then settled, then disgorged him. He hurried down the hall toward postpartum.
An officer leaned on one elbow at the nurses' station but straightened when he approached. The grip Officer Sheldon applied was harder than necessary. They were about the same height, but the cop wanted to be taller. He spiked his hair and carried himself like a bulldog. Might be a nice guy, but it wasn't surprising Maria hadn't answered his questions. He looked like the kind to boot her back over the border to the
federales
with machine guns.
"Is she awake?"
The officer shrugged. "In and out." He started down the hall.
"Why are you guarding her room?"
"I'm not. Just came after my shift to check in."
His opinion of the man softened. "How is she?"
"Incommunicado." They reached the end room with a sign on the door warning personnel this patient had suffered a loss. "Hammond at kid services thought you could get her to cooperate. I want the guys that had her."
Maria turned, hollow-eyed and panicked, when he went in. "Señor Lance!"
"Hola, Maria. ¿Cómo estás?"
Her lip trembled.
"Bien."
"No estás bien, chica."
She was nowhere near fine.
Tears washed into her eyes. She darted a look behind him at the cop, then whispered so far under her breath he hardly caught it, "
Mi hijo es muerto."
The urgency caught him in the throat.
Lance glanced over his shoulder. "Can we have a minute?"
When the officer left, he explained about Matt Hammond and CPS. It wasn't going to work to pretend the baby had died—although technically one had, forcing a partial hysterectomy. He didn't know how much of that she'd been told, but tears slipped from her eyes and ran down her face as she took in what he told her now, in Spanish, about the living son she'd left in his care.
"If they find out I lied—"
"Look at me." He leaned in close. "I won't let anything happen to you, or to your baby."
Tears spilled from her eyes. "Is he . . ."
"He's fine." He took her hand and felt her fear.
"I didn't want to—I couldn't . . ." She pressed her other hand to her face. "They will take him."
"No one can take him unless you give him up."
"My uncle—" She lurched up and clenched his hand between hers. "You have to keep the baby. You said—" She gasped with pain and hysteria. "You said I only had to have the baby. And I did. Now you have to—"
"Maria, listen." He placed his hand on her head and eased her back. "I never meant that. He's your baby. Yours. Unless you give him up."
She closed her eyes hard against her tears.
"You can let him go, but not because you're afraid. You're not alone in this."
Her throat worked. "Did you . . . name him?"
"He's your son. You name him."
"Diego," she whispered. "His name is Diego Manuel Espinoza."
Her coarse hair and forehead were warm and damp under his hand. "Diego Manuel will be glad to see you."
She shook her head. "I can't."
"The guys who had you are in custody. Is Diego's father one of them?"
She turned away, and he could swear it was shame that washed over her face.
"Maria?"
"No sè."
"You don't know, or you don't want to tell me?"
Tears welled in her eyes. "Please."
He cupped her head with his palm and rested it there as a tear trickled past her temple to her ear. "Okay." He released a slow breath. "Everything's going to be okay." He held her weary gaze and sent one more prayer to God's ear, then went home to tell Diego Manuel his name.
