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Dead Calm

Год написания книги
2018
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“A baby.”

“A baby?”

He watched as Sophie pushed off from the wall, watched as she straightened her shoulders, and he recognized the effort. Like the last embers flaring in a gust of wind before dying out, she suddenly glowed. Even her hair gleamed now with that touch of firelight he’d noticed before sparking in the dark curls.

Her hands were still jammed in her pockets, though.

He noticed that, too, and wondered about that bit of body language and what it might mean.

Details.

His preacher daddy had been a humorless man with meanness bred bone deep. All his passion had been spent in an adoration of God that left no room for love of humankind. But he’d said one good thing to Judah. Judah didn’t believe in anything else his daddy had said, but he’d never forgotten the old man’s beautiful voice, sonorous, one of those hypnotic magic voices that could fill the pews of their small church, pronouncing, “God is in the details, Judah,” he pronounced. “Don’t you be forgetting that. You pay attention, hear?”

Then the preacher man had slapped him twice, once on each side of his face. Hard enough to leave a bruise. “Hear me?”

Judah heard.

And he’d remembered.

In his experience he’d concluded it was more likely the devil he discovered in the details. Still, he’d found that bit of instruction to be one of the few useful bits of his father’s legacy.

If Tyree knew it was Judah’s pa who’d taught him the basic rule of being a detective, Jonas suspected Tyree would hoot about that, too.

George had known.

With a quick tap on his arm, the nurse interrupted the melancholy flow of his memories. “What a doll. Girl?”

He nodded.

“Oye, muy bonita. Pobrecita. What’s the story?”

“It’s…she’s…” he corrected himself, “she’s been outside a while. Don’t know how long, though.” He rubbed his hands along the side of his slicker and water sluiced off, dripping to the floor and splashing against his jeans. “It’s a rough night. Don’t know anything about babies, but she seems okay. A bit warm, maybe. Quiet.”

“Sí, this baby’s come to the right place.”

Judah shifted as Sophie reached him.

“Detective.” Her expression dismissed him.

The hairs along his arms rose lightly as her scent reached him. “Doctor,” he replied politely.

Her gray-blue eyes glittered momentarily, then flickered to the bundle. “What brings you back this evening?” Her tone was cool and crisp.

“Morning, actually,” he said, matching her coolness.

“So it is. Do you need our attention again? Or have you managed to keep yourself out of harm’s way for a few hours?”

“I’m not your patient this time.” He pointed to the nurse’s blanket.

Sophie leaned toward the bundle, peered inside the blanket, and that scent that wasn’t perfume, wasn’t exactly soap, wasn’t anything except her filled his nostrils.

Funny, he thought, amused by his body’s awareness of her. An awareness he didn’t want, but there it was. That old devil sex could rear up and trip a man when he least wanted it.

Or expected it.

He’d thought this past year had made him immune to the very particular appeal of Dr. Brennan.

On edge, he gestured toward the baby. “Well. She’s all yours. I’m out of here.”

Sophie’s warm hands brushed against him as she lifted the baby out of the nurse’s arms and cradled her. Sophie’s face went soft, as soft as the curves of her breasts where the baby lay, and he thought he saw sadness in her eyes as she touched the baby gently and said, “Ah, you’re a little love, aren’t you? Let’s go see how you’re doing, sweetie-pie.” Her hands moved lightly over the baby, automatically evaluating, examining.

Finnegan turned around, ready to make tracks for the outside as fast as his size elevens would take him.

“Not so fast this time, Finnegan. We need some information first.”

Damn. “Whatever you say, doctor.” He gritted his teeth and swung back to her.

“What can you tell me about this baby?”

“Diddly squat. We found her at the Second Baptist Church, in the manger, under its roof. Nobody else was there. She doesn’t look abused, she doesn’t look like a newborn, but of course I’m not the doctor—” he let the word take a bit of ice “—and that’s all the information I have.”

Sophie’s gaze flickered from the baby to the nurse. “You know what I’m thinking?”

“Makes sense,” the nurse responded as she stared at the baby and then down the hall. “Might explain what the woman kept crying out, I guess.”

“Awful big coincidence otherwise.”

“Still, it could be coincidence. It’s not as though she’s the first Asian patient here in Poinciana.”

“And not the first beating victim, either. We’re getting a lot of them lately.” Anger rippled over her face. “And not just our Asian population. Boy, this is lousy. What in heaven’s name is happening to Poinciana?” Her eyes were huge, dominating the soft roundness of her face.

Judah shook his head, fighting for clarity. He was finally free of the baby, but something she’d said had struck him as important. He shook his head again. Got it. “Coincidence? What coincidence?”

Sophie’s mouth tightened as she glanced from the baby to him. “A patient we had earlier.”

He forced his brain to focus. “A patient?”

“A woman. Beaten.”

“What happened?”

“She died.”

“I see.” He scratched the bristles on his chin. “You think this is her baby?”

“I don’t know, Finnegan.” Her sigh echoed his own fatigue. Her gaze returned to the baby. “It’s all such craziness.”

“You’ll get no argument from me on that score.”
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