Hot Property (8 page)

Wendy was only too happy to surrender the baby. She’d gotten so excited during the birth that she’d forgotten about the newspaper. Too late now, she supposed. As she watched Maggie cradling the infant against her stomach, looking for all the world like a Madonna, an intense wave of feelings washed over Wendy. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

She wasn’t normally the sappy sort, but all at once she started crying.

“Wendy?” Michael asked. “You okay?” He reached out and touched her hair very tentatively.

“F-fine,” she said, mortified. That’s when she noticed the horns honking. “The traffic’s moving again.”

Five minutes later they pulled up to the emergency entrance at Presbyterian. Maggie and her baby were whisked away. Wendy, in a daze, left Michael sitting behind the wheel of the van and dashed inside after the gurney, feeling a protectiveness for the mother and baby that was one of the strongest emotions she’d ever experienced.

When it became clear that Wendy wasn’t needed anymore, that Maggie was in capable hands, she felt deflated and dazed. A nurse stopped her in the hallway and asked her if she needed help.

“No, I’m fine,” she said, even as she looked down at herself and realized she was covered with blood. She ducked into a rest room and cleaned up the best she could. That was when the exultation of witnessing a birth, of being part of it, receded and doubts assailed her.

What if she’d done it all wrong? Maybe she should have used the newspaper after all. Was the baby all right? Was Maggie all right?

As she exited the ladies’ room, intent on finding a doctor and getting some answers, she nearly ran over Michael.

“There you are,” he said, steadying her with a warm hand to her arm. “You disappeared. I was worried about you.”

“Did you think I was fleeing custody?” she asked, only half kidding. She never knew with Michael.

But he was looking at her with an expression she’d
never seen on him before, maybe not on anyone. It was sort of the way someone might look at an angel, or some other miraculous phenomenon.

“You are awesome, Wendy Thayer.”

She realized then that he hadn’t let go of her arm. “What are you talking about? I was a blundering idiot. I panicked. Thank God I didn’t really need to
do
anything.”

“You did great,” he insisted. Then he looked down at his shoes. “Despite my driving. I should’ve listened to you and taken Oak Lawn. I appreciate that you didn’t say ‘I told you so’ when the traffic started stacking up.”

She would have, she realized, if she hadn’t been in such a state of hysterics. She’d missed a perfectly good chance to score a point with her nemesis.

She was about to remedy that situation when something in his eyes stopped her. He was staring at her with this dopey smile gripping his mouth. Then the smile disappeared. Her heart quickened as his face drew closer to hers. He was going to kiss her, she realized. A well of excitement overflowed inside her even as alarm bells sounded between her ears.

“You the one who delivered the baby?”

Michael jerked back as a doctor approached, looking at Wendy.

Wendy nodded and tried to compose herself. Michael had almost kissed her! That was insane. He was still her enemy, even if he had shown himself to be a bit more human.

“That would be me,” she said to the doctor.

“Mrs. Courtland is doing fine. The pediatrician is checking over the baby now, but he looked perfectly normal. Seven and a half pounds’ worth of healthy boy, with good lungs.”

Wendy sagged with relief. “Thank God,” she murmured. “I was afraid I’d done something wrong.”

“On the contrary, you did a great job. You can see her now. They’ll be transferring her to the maternity ward soon, but for now she’s still in Treatment Room Five.”

Wendy wasted no time hustling to find Maggie. She didn’t look at Michael or in any way acknowledge what had almost transpired between them. She hoped they could simply pretend it hadn’t happened.

Michael mentally kicked himself six ways to Sunday while they paid their respects to Maggie Courtland, who was beaming from her gurney in the ER.

What had come over him? He would be the first to admit that watching a child being born was a life-altering experience. His throat had felt thick and his eyes had stung when he’d watched Wendy guide that tiny new life into the world.

She claimed she’d done nothing extraordinary, but he knew better. He’d seen the look on her face.

Still, was that any excuse to kiss the woman? Thank God that doctor had come along and interrupted them, or he would have crossed an ethical line from which there was no turning back. Wendy was a suspect in an ongoing investigation—
his
investigation.
Any personal involvement with her would compromise the whole case.

“My husband’s on his way,” Maggie was saying. “You don’t need to stay here and keep me company. I know you have more shopping and errands to do. Jillian said you were swamped.”

Actually, Michael thought, the only thing they had pressing was a visit to an interrogation room downtown. If there was any way he could delay that meeting, he would. Wendy could no doubt use a little breathing space.

“If you’re sure,” Wendy was saying. “I am a little behind schedule.”

“Oh, I should pay you.” Maggie looked around for her purse. “And I’ll pay to have your van cleaned. Your back seat may never be the same.”

“That can wait,” Wendy assured her with a laugh. “I’ll send you a bill. And I promise I won’t charge anywhere near what your obstetrician would have.”

They said good-bye and had almost cleared Maggie’s room when a nurse arrived with a squirming bundle in her arms. “I have your son, Mrs. Courtland,” she said.

Michael didn’t think he could take any more. He’d never thought much about babies before. Faye had made it clear she didn’t want any, and that had suited him fine. He worked too many long hours to be a good father.

Suddenly those long-held convictions were just so much sawdust. This baby was special. The memory of bringing him into the world would be with him for a
long time to come. And the memory of Wendy holding him, looking at him with something akin to love even though he was a stranger, would be branded into his memory for life.

He slipped out of the treatment room and left Wendy, Maggie, and the baby to finish up their goodbyes.

Wendy was grateful that Michael allowed her to make a detour to her house to change clothes before returning to the police station for more questioning. Funny, but a couple of hours earlier her new status as a burglary suspect had seemed a near mortal blow to her life. Now, after helping a new life come into the world and avoiding the myriad disasters that could have befallen them, she’d put things into perspective.

She would weather this thing just fine, she resolved as she hastily stripped down to her underthings, acutely aware of Michael waiting in her living room with a thin wall separating them. She would answer the questions put to her as completely and honestly as she could, and the truth would set her free.

Or maybe an alibi would. Thank heavens she kept such a detailed calendar.

She dithered only a moment about what to wear. Something conservative, she decided, snatching from
her closet a pair of khaki slacks and a modest cotton blouse in an unthreatening light blue. She wished she had time for a shower, but she didn’t want to stretch the detective’s goodwill too far. He was being pretty accommodating as it was.

When she returned to the living room, she found Michael sitting stiffly on the edge of her flower-patterned sofa with Bill and Ted wrapped around him as if he were a giant catnip toy.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, walking swiftly over to rescue him from the affections of her demanding pets. She grabbed Bill off Michael’s lap and set him aside, then pulled the other cat from around Michael’s neck and cuddled him herself. “They’re shelter cats. Deprived of affection when they were kittens, so now they demand a lot of it.”

“You
are
an animal psychologist,” he accused, though one corner of his mouth turned up, softening the criticism. “Do they have low self-esteem problems too?”

“No, not Bill and Ted,” she said, setting Ted on the sofa and giving each cat a token scratch behind the ears. “They think a lot of themselves. You like cats?” She realized she was tense, waiting for his answer. For some stupid reason, it was important to her that he get along with her babies.

“I’m a guy. Guys aren’t supposed to like cats,” he hedged.

“That’s a cop-out, if you’ll pardon the pun.”

Michael reached out reluctantly to pet Bill, who immediately abandoned Wendy’s attentions for the
lure of a friendly stranger. “I guess cats are okay,” he admitted. “Especially big, manly boy cats like these who know how to show affection. What I can’t stand are those fluffy ones with the smushed-in faces.”

“You sound like you have personal experience.”

He nodded. “Snow Fluff. Faye’s cat. He cost four hundred dollars, ate nothing but albacore tuna, and hated me. He shredded my ostrich boots.”

Wendy couldn’t help it—she laughed at the mental picture he painted.

Michael scowled at her. “It’s not funny. Those boots cost more than the cat did. My one indulgence.”

She laughed again. “Well, Bill and Ted cost ten bucks apiece to adopt, eat bargain-basement cat food, love everyone, and they haven’t developed a taste for ostrich that I know of.”

“Then we’ll all get along fine. You ready?”

At the reminder of the ordeal ahead of her, Wendy tensed again. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

They didn’t talk much on the way downtown, until Wendy asked, “Michael, do you think there’s a chance, even a one-in-a-million chance, that I won’t be convicted?”

“There’s a huge chance you won’t be convicted. You’ve got a great lawyer. The district attorney’s office could blunder in any number of ways—”

“But if no mistakes are made?”

Michael sighed. “It looks bad for you, Wendy. What can I say?”

“And what about you?” she asked in a quiet voice. “Do you think I’m guilty?” She held her breath, waiting
for his answer. It seemed to her that if, after getting to know her as he had, he still thought she was a thief, then she might as well pack it in right now, plead guilty and be done with it.

He hesitated. “Well, if I were to look strictly at the evidence—”

“No, I mean you, personally. Knowing everything you know, not just the stuff that will get into court.”

“Let’s just say you’re not like most of the felons I’ve dealt with. I have a hard time believing you’re a criminal. My opinion and a buck will get you a cup of coffee,” he added. “Some places, anyway.”

She would have to settle for that, she supposed. It was better than the cold condemnation he’d treated her to the previous day. She allowed herself to fantasize about what it would be like to have Michael Taggert on her side of the fence, supporting her a hundred percent. The idea made her warm all over.

“You’re blushing again,” Michael said.

“It’s hot,” she fibbed, reaching for the van’s air conditioner controls. They were stopped at a light on the fringes of downtown, so she leaned down to study the unfamiliar switches, dials, and buttons. Could they make it any more complicated?

The moment she ducked down, a deafening crack made her ears ring. She jumped and raised up to see that her windshield had shattered. A rock must have flown up and hit it.

“I can’t believe it!” she cried. “A brand-new van and the windshield can’t take a little rock—”

“Get down!” Michael shouted, grabbing her by
the neck and pushing her head practically into his lap. He didn’t stop there, though. With lightning-fast motions he unbuckled both of their seat belts, slid off his own seat, and dragged her to the floor of the van. Her foot couldn’t help but leave the pedals.

“What are you doing?” she demanded. “We’re moving!”

“It’s okay, traffic will stop.” He grabbed the cellular phone with one hand while pinning Wendy down with the other. She heard three blips and realized he was calling 9-1-1.

Another loud crack, and Wendy’s headrest exploded into fluff. She figured out what was happening about the same time Michael verbalized it over the phone.

“This is Sergeant Michael Taggert,” he said urgently into the receiver. “I’m in a green and white van at the intersection of Harry Hines and Pearl, and I’m under fire!”

She was amazingly calm, given the circumstances. Someone had shot at them with, like, real bullets. Horns were blasting at them from all sides, but no more shots were fired.

Michael released Wendy with a curt order for her to stay where she was. She turned her head just enough so that she could watch him. A gun had materialized in his hand—funny, she hadn’t thought about him carrying a gun before. From his cramped, crouched position on the floor of the van, he raised up slowly, pointing his weapon in a sideways arc 180 degrees.

“Be careful,” Wendy said, as if he wouldn’t be at a time like this. As the van rolled to a stop, he unbent a little more, peering out first one window, then another. “Couldn’t we wait for reinforcements?”

“They’re here.”

Wendy heard sirens—lots of them. Jeez, the whole force turned out when one of their own was threatened. The passenger door flew open and a red-faced cop peered inside.

“What the hell’s going on in here?”

“We were shot at,” Michael explained, flashing his badge.

“Oh, sorry, Detective Taggert, didn’t realize it was you. You’re causing one hell of a traffic jam. Do you think you could move the van—”

“She’s not moving,” he said, nodding toward Wendy, “till the area’s been searched for the sniper. I’m pretty sure the shots came from that building.” He pointed in a direction Wendy couldn’t see.

Michael had put her safety first, which caused her already rising estimation of him to ratchet up a couple of notches. But he climbed out of his makeshift foxhole, seemingly without a care for his own well-being.

“Michael! Stay with me,” she said, figuring an appeal to his protective instincts would work better than insisting he watch his own back.

But he was already out of the van. “You’ll be fine,” he said. “Just stay where you are.” With a natural authority, he ordered one of the uniformed officers to stay with her. “Bender, get a couple of men and come with me. I’m gonna check out that building.”