Borrowed Baby (4 page)

Griff closed his eyes. Damn, how could he have been so stupid? Because it was not part of his routine, picking up Casie had completely slipped his mind. But that was no excuse, he berated himself. "Oh, God."

"Ah, it all comes back to you now, does it?"

He didn't particularly care for this woman's sense of humor. He didn't particularly care for any of this. "I'll be right there."

"I should hope so." She heard a click in answer to her comment. "Certainly do run off at the mouth, don't you?" she murmured as she hung up.

Griff had put in a long and hard day. O'Hara, Ross, Henderson, Swayze and Brown had called in sick and that had left only a handful of officers to patrol the area. Then there had been that car accident off Main. The old man driving the boatlike Cadillac had suffered a heart attack and plowed right into á van whose driver was a young college student. Griff had been the first on the scene. The student was just badly shaken, but the old man was turning blue. A quick application of CPR had brought the man around, but he was in critical condition. Griff rode with him in the ambulance because the old man wouldn't let go of his hand. Griff had figured it was his duty to go along.

The old man had stayed on his mind the rest of the day, even when he was besieged from all sides by the avalanche of paperwork he had allowed to pile up. His attempts at locating Sally had proven fruitless. Lunch had been something small and greasy and three hours overdue that C.W. had tossed on his desk. He hadn't had a minute to call his own in the past twelve hours. By the time he had lowered himself behind the steer-ing wheel of his car, a baby had been the last thing on his mind.

He wished he could pretend that it was all a bad dream, but he knew that it wasn't. He also knew that he couldn't figure out what he was going to do with his newly acquired niece. Sally had seemed to disappear without a trace. Someone on the radio was singing about how great life was. He switched it off.

Liz turned on the radio and caught the last few lines of a favorite song. She hummed along as she made herself a fresh pot of coffee. She loved listening to music. It seemed to somehow underscore life, make it more pleasant, highlight the good points and make the bad more bearable. She decided to leave the radio on as she waited for Griff to make his appearance. Listening to old familiar tunes would help ease the tension she felt building.

She wasn't sure why, but that big, solemn-looking policeman seemed to make her feel slightly tense when she was around him. Something about him made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

Static, probably, she muttered, peeking into the bedroom. Casie was still fast asleep, curled up on her stomach and clutching the center of the comforter. Liz had just managed to ease the door closed when the doorbell rang.

He must live close by, she thought. Either that or he exceeded a lot of speed limits to get here. Somehow, she didn't think that was the case.

She opened the door and gave him her broadest smile. "Hi."

The smile was not returned. Griff did not like to be caught lacking. "I forgot her."

"I had a hunch."

He walked in. "I'm not used to remembering a baby."

"It's an acquired experience." She shut the door behind him. "Has your sister come back?"

Griff spun on his heel to face her and Liz could have sworn the look in his eyes was hostile. "What?"

Liz raised her hand, pretending to ward off his anger. She saw the look retreat. "You said she had to leave suddenly. I just wondered if she came back— suddenly."

"No."

"I see." The man was not going to win any awards as a great conversationalist. "Well, Casie's asleep on my bed if you want to get her." Liz began to lead the way toward the back of her house.

The baby grand that dominated the living room seemed to pique his interest. It was an heirloom and had once belonged to her grandmother, who gave recitals and smelled of vanilla. When she had moved away, she had insisted that her favorite grandchild take her most prized possession.

"Do you play?"

"Mostly children's songs," she admitted.

There was a photograph in a silver frame on top of the piano. It was of a subdued, handsome man in glasses, sporting a Vandyke. He looked cultured and refined, as if he'd be right at home at the opera. Griff took an instant dislike to him. He picked up the photograph and studied it.

"Husband?"

Liz turned around and saw him fingering Vinnie's photograph. "No."

He placed the frame back down carefully. "Boyfriend?" It was absolutely no concern of his if she had a harem, but he still heard himself asking.

Liz tried to picture her buddy Vinnie as her lover and almost laughed out loud. All she could think of was the way he had looked when she had rescued him from that sandlot bully when they were both eleven. She had won his undying devotion from that day forward. "Is this an investigation?"

"Just making small talk," Griff muttered uncomfortably, wondering why he was bothering to explain.

"Not very good at it, are you?"

He frowned. Served him right for asking. "If you'll just give me my niece."

He was obviously taking care of the child out of some sense of duty rather than love and it disturbed her. How could he not melt at the sight of that little girl? "Sounds as if you're ordering a ham on rye."

He almost told her what she could do with her analysis, but then, she had helped him out. "No, just a niece."

Liz paused at the bedroom door, her hand on the doorknob. "Have you eaten yet?"

What did that have to do with anything? "No."

Maybe that was it. She knew a lot of people who were churlish when they were really hungry. "Would you like to?"

He stared at her, not quite comprehending. "Are you asking me out?''

"No, I'm asking you in." She slipped her arm through his and nudged him toward the kitchen. "When we weren't playing with your niece, the boys and I made lasagna. There's more than enough to last me for at least the next week. I thought perhaps you'd like some."

He didn't want to get tangled up with this strange woman any more than he absolutely had to. Having Casie in his life was going to present enough problems. Liz was looking up at him with the same bright blue eyes his niece had. "No, I—"

He was being obstinate. Well, so could she. "We used real ingredients," she coaxed. "No mud or bugs."

She really was missing a few pieces to the final puzzle. "Is that what you do with them, cook?"

A male chauvinist if she ever saw one. "There's nothing wrong in teaching boys how to cook. And it makes them feel useful and it gives us an activity to share together." She grinned impishly. "Besides sliding through stop signs, of course."

No, he wasn't going to get involved here. "Thanks, but I'd better get home."

"All right. How about if I make you a care package?"

"A what?"

"A care package. I'll wrap up some lasagna for you to take home. You might get hungry later." She went to the pantry and took out a box of aluminum foil. "Unless your girlfriend objects to your bringing home food from strange women."

She had the last part right at any rate. "There isn't a girlfriend," he said before he realized it.

She had a feeling that there might not be. She also realized that his answer made her smile.

Griff hesitated. Oh well, what was the harm? He had eaten worse, he was sure—just this afternoon, as a matter of fact. "All right, if it's not too much trouble."

She took the pan out of the refrigerator and cut a rather large piece. "No trouble at all." Pulling up the sides of the foil, she secured Griff's dinner. After she put it in a paper bag, she found that, music in the background notwithstanding, she couldn't take the silence anymore. The man did only speak when spoken to. "I'm sorry about what I said earlier, about your not being very good at small talk."

Griff shrugged. "I'm not. It's not required in my line of work."

"Oh, I don't know." She deposited the bag on the kitchen table and looked up at him. Lord, he was tall. And masculine. Very, very masculine. Her probably had to put up one damn good fight to stay unattached. "I always thought policemen were the friendliest people in the world when I was a little girl. I think I was in love with the uniform."

Her eyes skimmed over him. He wasn't wearing his uniform now. He had on jeans, a turtleneck shirt that somehow made his throat all the more tempting to her, and a windbreaker that seemed a bit too light for the cool November weather. He probably didn't allow himself to get cold, she thought. Nevertheless, she thought she might try warming him up. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

He wanted to go. Now. And yet, he didn't make a move. "No, I—"

"C'mon," she urged. "It's not poisoned." She was already pouring him a cup. "And besides, Casie's still asleep."

He watched her. Confident seemed to be the best word to describe her. "Doesn't anyone ever get to say 'no' to you?"

"Oh, they say it," she assured him, placing the mug in front of him, "but I don't listen."

"I noticed."

He knew he should be on his way home, away from this effervescent woman with the athletic body and overdeveloped sense of gab. But the thought of going home and being alone with Casie filled him with a sort of apprehension he wasn't familiar with. So he picked up the mug and held it in both hands.

She poured herself a mug and then sat down at the table. He remained standing. "You can sit down, you know. The chairs are pretty sturdy."

Awkwardly, he sat down.

Progress, Liz thought, of a sort. "Do you know how long your sister is going to be gone?"

The woman was impossible. Did she think she could delve into his life like this? "Does the word privacy mean anything to you?"

His tone didn't put her off. "Never got that far in the dictionary. I stopped at n for neighborly."

He reluctantly responded to the smile she gave him. "I don't know," he finally admitted. Griff took a long sip of his coffee.

"I see." The subject was painful to him. Liz knew enough to back off, even though she wanted to help somehow. "Would you like to bring Casie back on Monday—if your sister doesn't come back for her, I mean."

He nodded slowly. He didn't want to think about the possibility of Sally leaving Casie with him indefinitely, but it was becoming a very viable reality.

Because she knew that his sense of pride demanded it, Liz mentioned the financial end of the arrangement. "I could give you a weekly rate until the situation changes."

Griff reached into his back pocket for his checkbook. "How much do I owe you?"

Liz put out a hand to stop him. The sudden contact of bare skin on bare skin froze the moment, and they looked at each other. Liz wondered what was going on behind those eyes of his. Who was he? Why was he so remote? And who was this sister who abandoned her child on his doorstep? The part of her that longed to make everyone happy wanted to ask the questions aloud. But she kept her peace. She knew it was too soon for answers. "Why don't we take care of that next week?"

Her suggestion brought out a dry chuckle. "I've heard loan sharks use that line."

So you do have a sense of humor in there somewhere. That was promising. "Don't worry, I won't ask for any popular body parts in payment." She saw his eyebrows rise questioningly and realized that he must have misunderstood her. "Are you going to need any help in taking care of her over the weekend?" she asked quickly, eager to change the subject.

"No," he said automatically, then paused. "Yes."

"Is this a trick answer?"

Because it had been a long day, because a man had come back to life in his arms, Griff decided to allow himself a rare break in his own rules of keeping his own counsel. "I don't know when Sally is coming back and there are some things I guess I'll need to get for the ki—for Casie."

"Such as?"

"I don't know."

"That extensive, eh?"

Liz toyed with her coffee mug. This was really none of her business, but then, that had never stopped her before. Everything that came in contact with her life somehow turned out to be her business. "Would you like me to go shopping with you tomorrow?''

"Shopping?"

"For diapers, baby food, clothes, et cetera."

It was against his principles to ask for help, or to accept any. He had learned long ago to be self- sufficient. The only one he could depend on was himself.

"I don't like to ask for help."

"I would have never guessed." Her eyes danced as she said it. Her lips moved into a wide smile.

She had a mouth made for smiling. Would the smile spread to his own lips if he kissed her?

The thought was like cold water in his face. Griff took a deep breath, deciding that he was going ever so slightly insane because of overwork, the situation— and the woman. He put the mug down on the table and looked over his shoulder toward the bedroom.

"I think I might need help with the 'et cetera.'"

"That," she said, smiling over her coffee mug, "happens to be my specialty."

Chapter Four

Griff realized that he was squeezing his coffee mug. If it were possible to transfer the tension he felt, he was certain that he'd probably be able to float a nickel on the surface of the dark liquid in his mug.

He had felt more relaxed drinking washed-out coffee from a foam cup while on a stakeout in the roughest neighborhoods of Los Angeles. He had worked in some of the seedier areas just before he had come to work in Bedford. On a stakeout he had always known what he was up against and how to react. He made sure he was in control.

Here, sitting in the brightly illuminated kitchen with cheery knickknacks abounding, he wasn't all that certain. Lack of certainty took precious control away from him. Granted, sharing a mug of coffee with an animated honey-blonde did not quite come under the heading of life or death. But then again, there was an undeniable degree of certainty in facing a life-or-death situation. If you lost your edge, if you got sloppy, you could quite possibly be blown away.